Bad Habits: A Rocky Horror Picture Show Fanfiction
by Alma Oakley
Summary: 'A thirst for power is the natural disease of the monarchy.' - Thomas Paine. Celeste Sanjati always hated her philosophy class. Morals, ethics, she always thought it to be nothing more than common sense. But, with the help of a certain doctor, she might just become one of the most distinctive case studies of all time
1. Chapter One

_'You'll be crushed.'_

 _Frank rolled his eyes and put his feet up on the dining room table, a glass of iced whiskey in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. 'What are you blathering on about now, Riff Raff?' Tired, irritable, and in a bit of a developmental slump, he was already bored with this conversation._

 _'When you remember,' the handyman replied from his post at the overhead cabinet, without turning around to properly address his master. 'When you realise who she is, and what you've done to her, it'll destroy you.'_

* * *

'Sprite, are you even listening to me?

She looked up, taking one earphone out and rubbing her eye.

'So sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, just didn't get much sleep last night, that's all.' She pursed her lips before deciding to continue. 'Had to listen to my mother royally fuck another stranger and fight him out the house when he realised she wouldn't give him any of her money.'

In any other context, this blunt, emotionless disclosure of privacy would've caused disapproval, or at least a grimace, but here they just laughed. Running with the richest kids in the country came with stories much worse. In fact, hers were always the tamest of the whole school.

Truthfully, this was only half the reason for her bad mood. If anybody ever entertained the thought of rich kids actually having problems, they'd quickly find out that she was completely and unconditionally trapped.

She sat in school, second in the whole country for standards, education and extortionate bills every term, stifled by spoiled brats who'd never earned honest money in their lives, and neither had thier parents, no doubt. Sons and daughters of fashion designers, bank managers and music legends joined her every day for no reason other than to appear 'normal' and 'humble' to the general public.

Incentivised with two hundred dollars for passing every class led to a whole building full of ungrateful snobs. Even the lecturers had little time for their jobs - they knew every kid in the school would end up far better off than them regardless of whether they turned up for class or not, and this made them incredibly bitter, and they all got treated the same.

She only had three real friends - everybody else simpered and pandered to her every need to try and get some money, or even just to go to her house. She was disgusted by the materialistic nature of her house; all these years later she still refused to call it her home. Homes are supposed to be cosy, safe places to share your thoughts in confidence and have fun with friends. Five acres, three pools and cctv in every room achieved the exact opposite of that.

She'd give anything to go back to the simpler times, before her downtrodden, working class mother joined her friends to a trip to New York and somehow managed to seduce the manger of the tenth largest bank in the whole world. He bribed her extortionate amounts to keep the affair under wraps. She got the money and he kept his reputation. She didn't keep a word of her promise, the press lapped it up and to this day she still got recognised for being 'her' daughter.

The entitlement had gone straight to her mother's head. She was out partying every night, dining on oysters and caviar, waking up every morning with a hangover worse than the last. She didn't have a mother anymore. She was lucky if she saw her to be grilled about schoolwork or shamed for not having a boyfriend once a month. The usual bullying increased ten fold, a whore of a mother made her a much bigger target that she had already been for her ridiculous name.

Sprite was only a nickname - the story of which was too embarrasing to even think about. Only a handful of people knew her real name, and that was credit owed to her father, a man she'd never met. The last time he ever saw her mother was to sign the birth certificate, and Celeste Sanjati was born. Fucking ew. Celeste was bad enough, but Sanjati? She knew exactly why they'd chosen it. She could hear the conversation now.

' _Give her something unusual, exotic, eccentric. Just like her father.'_ Followed by excruciatingly flirtatious laughter, in a last ditch attempt to cure his fear of commitment.

 _'She needs something that will help her stand out amongst all of her little school friends. Make them intimidated before they even see her. Something that will let people know who she is, and more importantly, whether they stand a chance with her.'  
_

One quick Google search and it was all over.

Of course she didn't really know how it happened, but in her head that sounded just like the wet, desperate thing her mother would croon, followed by the egotistical bullshit that apparently spewed from her fathers lips. She certainly didn't stand out anymore, in fact her name was the most drab of all. _Sorry, dad,_ she thought to herself bitterly.

She sifted through this melodramatic therapy session in just a few seconds, before turning her attention back to her friends. Just to evidentiate her point, her three closest friends consisted of a dark haired girl with big eyes named Zadie, a handsome, well read boy named Arlo and a girl nobody quite knew how she came to attend the school named Remi.

'My uncle's having a huge party tonight and I'm trying to rally a gang to accompany me so I don't go out of my mind.' Zadie widened her large eyes for emphasis, flipping her gorgeous sheen of black hair as she spoke.

One thing she couldn't complain about was the parties. Every day someone's family member, no matter how distant they may be was having a huge blow-out, and there was nothing better than the prospect of getting completely smashed. Now, she was never one for generalisation, but literally every party she had been to featured grown men and woman who were perfectly happy serving alcohol to anyone who walked in the door. In fact, that's how she'd gotten her nickname.

The first party she'd been to (or 'gathering' as she was instructed to call it, lest her mother threw a fit - until she stopped caring, that is), was when she was twelve years old. A middle aged woman had taken her by the arm with a promise to look after her and offered her a drink, to which she'd confidently asked for a Sprite. The entire venue absolutely rioted. There was no worse way to let everyone know how clueless she really was. They laughed about it all night, and the name stuck.

'I've been looking for an excuse to get hammered all week. What time should we get there?'

Zadie scrolled through her phone. 'Well he said he still has most of his guests there from last night, so we could probably just go there now. After we change of course.' They all looked down in disgust at thier mustard yellow uniforms. She looked to the front of the classroom. The obnoxious grandfather clock told her it was twelve o'clock, and she noticed that the lecturer wasn't even there - she vaguely remembered hearing the door close as she absentmindedly drew on the back of her hand.

On the way out they passed two teachers and four cleaners, and not one of them even looked concerned.

'Complete waste of fucking time being here.' Zadie muttered. 'All four of us could die tomorrow and they'd probably read a poem in tutorial.'

Sprite snickered into her sleeve, but she kind of had to laugh, otherwise she'd cry. She couldn't imagine ever living a life where she wasn't just 'coping' all the time. It was slowly crushing her.

They didn't live too far away from the school, or from each other, so they all went to their separate houses. She entered the code to open the gate and dropped her Balenziaga in the doorway, before checking the cctv in the kitchen. She didn't check it properly, or as often as she should, she knew that. She climbed two flights to her bathroom and stepped into the shower. Powerful jets of water soaked her from all sides as she massaged her scalp and shaved her legs. She stared dejectedly at her wardrobe: racks upon racks of designer clothing picked out by her mother.

She knew these parties were never formal affairs. One time Arlo had woken her up in the middle of the night and they'd literally turned up in thier pyjamas. So why the fuck was it still so difficult picking out an outfit?

She pulled out a slightly oversized grey t-shirt, denim booty shorts and sparkly trainers. The outfit alone probably came to over a grand, she felt quite sick as she slipped it over her head. She dried her hair and re-applied her makeup and called her chauffeur to come and pick her up.

She cracked open two beers and downed them one after the other. There was an unofficial competition between them to see who could end up worse at the end of every event. She knew it was really bad, and pre-drinks were supposed to be a group affair to nobody could cheat, but for some reason she was determined to win tonight.

It was another fifteen minutes before she heard the lamborghini crunch the gravel outside. She grabbed a clutch and headed out, entering the code to lock the gate. Her chauffeur, Ralph, was one of the only members of staff that she actually liked, and Sprite smiled warmly at him as she got in.

'Morning, Celie.' He'd affectionately shortened her legal name, and she loved him for it.

'Morning, Ralph. To the Elwood manor today. Actually quite looking forward to this one.' She confessed.

'Another party?' He asked, raising an eyebrow at the rearview mirror. 'Didn't he just have one yesterday?'

'Yeah, I think so. Probably not even another one, just last nights never finished.'

She secretly dreaded asking to be taken to the manor. A huge country estate in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and it was near impossible to find. A good forty five minutes away the last quarter consisted exclusively of dirt roads and hedges, no signs, other cars, or even other people to help you find it. There's no sign of civilisation anywhere, it suddenly just appears right in front of you.

She felt awful for Ralph having to find his own way back. It was just past one o'clock when the pulled up alongside the Mercedes and Ferraries and Morgans. Zadie was just getting out of her car when they arrived. Sprite thanked him and told him she'd be getting a lift back. She lied, but really didn't want to make him come out there at stupid o'clock in the morning. Her mother would have no problems making such demands.

She got out and hugged her friend. They looked practically the same, except Zadie's makeup was a lot more dramatic. On the pull tonight. Zadie reached out and rang the loud, ominous doorbell. The door flew open in seconds to reveal the most wonderfully eccentric man she'd ever known.

Zadie's uncle didn't exactly do well for defying stereotypes. He way gay, promiscuous and completely insane. Anyone who's brave enough to spend the night knew he liked to scare the shit out of you - mostly after you'd fallen asleep. He'd leave horrible Halloween decorations hanging from the ceiling fan and shriek at the top of his lungs, pour crickets on you in the shower and leave buckets of green slime teetering on the shelves in the wardrobe.

Today, he wore an obnoxiously bright, multicoloured woolly jumper, peacock patterned loose trousers with suspenders and no shoes. Complete with pince-nez glasses, mad scientist hair and a comedy sketch moustache, he was the pinnacle of rich weirdos.

'Sprite, my darling, how are you?' He cried, yanking her through the door and into his chest. She clutched on to him to steady herself before she was practically shoved out of the way. Zadie received the same treatment and they giggled breathlessly into the main living area. Stone floors, high ceilings and portraits that watched you wherever you went had been modernised by the huge bar, multitude of rugs and a small army of party guests. Some weird rock opera track blared from the speakers (embedded in the wall somewhere no doubt), and Sprite had to scream to be heard as she greeted her many acquaintances who were already too smashed to care.

They explored and found thier friends quickly. Arlo was in the attic intensely making out with a girl, and Remi was crying to a sympathetic older man in the bathtub about getting the white Rolex for Christmas instead of the black one. Zadie pulled Sprite back downstairs and poured them each four shots of tequila.

'Cheers.' Zadie clinked her glass against hers.

'To one in the afternoon.' Sprite toasted, and knocked her drink back.

* * *

All five of them clambered into the Mercedes, sopping wet and smashed beyond comprehension. Sprite had never felt so ill. Her head pounded and swam lazily, ears ringing and eyes too heavy to keep open for more than one second at a time. She screamed until she could sit down, had enough common sense to wear her seatbelt, opened the car window and vomitted out on to the floor. She heard a distant roaring of laughter, and despite the state she was in, she couldn't bring herself to regret anything she did.

Remi desperately tried to put the keys in the ignition, but was just stabbing them aimlessly at thin air. She was vaguely aware of the other three in the back, shouting, singing, moaning. Arlo's girl had taken her top off in his arms. It was midnight: eleven hours of non stop drinking has rendered them all useless.

'This isn't even my car, isn't it funny?' Remi slurred, burping loudly as she laughed. The smell of alcohol and pizza hit Sprite in the face and she threw up a little in her mouth. 'I just found the keys on the floor, so they obviously wanted someone to use thier car to get home, isn't that thoughtful?'

The engine roared to life and they meandered down the dirt road. Now, even in her state, Sprite knew this was incredibly dangerous, not to mention illegal. No one had a clue where they were going, the slut was on Arlo's lap and Remi wasn't even looking at the road, she was crying about having dried sick on her top. She should probably say something, but was too tired to really care at the moment. _Maybe I'll take a nap and address this in the morning_ , she thought to herself, yawning deeply.

They bounced along the road horrendously, three in the back screaming and laughing like they were on a roller coaster. Zadie was sprawled out across them, half asleep and groaning. Arlo tried to play with her hair but was almost sick on her instead. They bounced so hard the slut fell into the door and it opened. With no support, she tipped forward and came this close to falling out on to the road at however many miles an hour. She hollered and slammed it shut, almost breaking the window in the process. Sprite put her hand on Remi's sweaty shoulder.

'At least wait until the rain stops.' She wasn't sure what actually came out of her mouth, but that's what she'd intended to say. She was right, though. Fat rain drops hammered down in sheets, and it was only then she realised they'd gone the whole way without wipers or lights.

Remi sighed and let go of the steering wheel. In the blessed silence, Sprite leaned against the delightfully cool window and fell asleep.

* * *

A huge crash of thunder woke her with a scream. She'd jumped a foot in the air and her chest hurt from the speed of her heart. It was two in the morning: she'd slept for over two hours.

Everyone in the car had gone. Instantly she felt a sinking feeling. She checked her phone - dangerously low battery - and saw the usual texts inviting her for a Starbucks, asking her opinion on designers, and one from her mother, sent at five which read: _Hosting. Don't come home_. But nothing from her friends. The lovebirds probably went to fuck and Remi probably went with Zadie to piss somewhere. Another fifteen minutes passed before she started to get worried.

Judgement clouded by alcohol, she got out and began to look for them. She trekked through the mud, raining harder than ever for a few minutes before she took her shoes off. They were Louboutin's, she was not about to wreck them. Her bare feet squelched in the wet mud, fighting to keep from vomitting at the feeling of the mud squeezing between her toes.

She stopped counting how many times she'd slipped after seven. She'd been walking for ages and still had no sign of them. They were probably in the same situation as her. Her hands and knees were slimy and caked with mud, wet hair plastered to her face. Just as she was either about to throw a tantrum or call the police, she saw a castle. Beautiful, grand, and most importantly, warm. It made sense; this area was full of rich weirdos. There were no lights on and no cars parked in front, but it was worth a try.

She gritted her teeth and pixie danced across the gravel on her bare feet. She leaned against the door and it swung open. She dropped to one knee in the doorway and scrambled upright. She stood there for a moment, contemplating whether she should go in. Another crash of thunder sent shivers down her spine and she stepped in, closing the door behind her.

At first glance someone definitely lived here, but on closer inspection perhaps they didn't. It was extremely cluttered, but in a nice way, antiques crammed on to every surface, china plates in the sink and faded ornate rugs - but everything was coated in a thick layer of dust, as if the owners hadn't been here for quite some time. It wasn't uncommon for their kind to own many homes across the world, she assumed that was the case here. But then, why was the door unlocked?

It was dark, spacious, and fucking terrifying. Candelabras created dark shadows that concealed the furthest corners and threw menacing shapes on the walls. She couldn't relax, waiting for something to jump out at her. Or at least, a very angry home owner to shove her back out in the rain.

She could barely stand on the smooth wood floor, and she was too scared to explore thoroughly so she slowly ascended the carpeted stairs. The dark wood banisters gleamed in the dim light as she walked, shaking terribly. She walked as slowly as she could on the second floor corridor, terrified that it would creak under her weight. A bright yellow line shone from the crack under one of the doors. She crept closer and leaned her head against the wood. She heard very loud creaking and laughing and moaning. The fucking sluts had snuck off to have a threesome at the neighbours.

She slammed her fist against the the door, took a deep breath and screamed 'I know you're in there!' In the way only a drunkard could. Sprite half fell back down the stairs. She wasn't sure where she was planning to go, but just as she pulled the door open her phone sounded.

 _Went to get you a blanket and some water. Where are you? R._

She stared at her phone, dumbfounded. All that time and they'd been finding her something to drink? Five minutes longer and she'd be sat in the warm car with Remi. Sprite's drunken mind questioned one crucial thing: who was fucking upstairs?

She felt like she might cry. She tried to tell herself it wasn't that bad, but it really was. She'd pounded on the door in the middle of a passionate exchange between two completely estranged lovers. The man and wife of the house, no doubt. How was she going to talk her way out of this one? She decided to at least see if they were bothered or not and went back upstairs to find the door open and the lights off. Oh, shit.

She felt blindly through the rest of the dark house, using the walls for support. She was too scared to use the torch on her phone incase she gave herself away. She wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if she didn't at least try to apologise, but every door she'd tried had been locked. Finally the third floor corridor offered some salvation as one of the doors opened at her push.

She couldn't see anything, but she knew she was in a very grand bedroom. As her eyes adjusted she could just make out a four poster bed and a very large dresser with a huge mirror, and she found the wardrobe by nearly killing herself on it as she raced in.

She went straight to the dresser, searching in all the drawers. They had her shoes, (she'd accidentally dropped them on her way down the stairs and no way was she going back out there barefoot again). Her sobriety had increased significantly, and she decided to scrap the apology and get the fuck out of there. She desperately searched through the piles of women's lingerie but couldn't find anything of hers. She hissed in exasperation, grabbed her hair and straightened up.

She felt a sickening numbness spread throughout her entire body when she saw the dark figure leaning against the wardrobe.

'Are you lost, little mouse?'

She fainted.

* * *

 **Cause if nobody hears that tree fall down,  
Does it make a sound?  
And am I even here if I'm alone?**

Team Player - ELIZA

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hello there, unconventional conventionalists.**

 **I don't have a deep, heartfelt reason as to why I'm doing this whole fan-fiction thing.**

 **I'm a huge fan of the show and wanted to get back into writing again, thus the love child was born. Thank you very much for reading, I hope you all enjoyed and I'll see you soon.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	2. Chapter Two

**So I decided to keep going? I don't really know what I'm doing, I'm not looking for reviews or popularity (though it certainly wouldn't go amiss), I'm writing this because I like doing it. I don't know. It's relaxing. Lmao. Keep an eye out for your friendly neighbourhood hot dog.**

* * *

The first indication that Sprite might not have been brutally murdered in a scenario fit for the silver screen was the sound of bells ringing.

A sweet, sonorous tone, it was quite relaxing. It wasn't a huge dull clang like that of Notredame, it was a much more twinkly noise, perhaps associated with mythical woodland creatures, or the check-in desk at a hotel.

She didn't know who was making the noise or where it was coming from. It sounded far away, and soon after came the thick, hazed vibrations from multiple voices. There seemed to be a lot of people down there - wherever _there_ was, she assumed she was probably upstairs somewhere - and she let the gentle noises revive her back into reality.

With the vague confirmation that she was in fact alive and slowly waking up, she came to realise that she was lying in a large, outrageously comfortable bed. Multiple pillows supported her head and the covers were very thick. She would have made to sit up if she hadn't been wrapped right up to her neck under the heavy covers, her arms stuck by her sides. She'd been treated like a hospital patient, and rather felt like one too, for she'd been conscious long enough to realise she was awake, and she had yet to open her eyes.

She must've fallen asleep at the manor. That's the only explanation for it. She was a notoriously tired drunk, and someone (presumably Arlo, he was always taking care of them) had taken the liberty of putting her up for the night. She'd had a crazy, alcohol-induced lucid dream which was up there with the most terrifying thing she'd ever experienced, but that was okay now because none of it was real, she was safe and warm, surrounded by people she knew and loved.

If only she could open her eyes.

The hiking could've been dreamt up, the hangover could not. Her head pounded and swam lazily, she was at that awful stage where one's absolutely starving but the mere thought of food churns one's stomach, and her throat was dry, sore, and scratchy.

Sprite knew that opening her eyes would make everything ten times worse. The most appealing option was to go back to sleep and let the other overnight guests assume she'd never woken up in the first place, but her mind was already far too restless to sleep.

As if on cue, the door opened.

Someone pushed it open very slowly and carefully (they thought Sprite was still sleeping as she had fake-breathed and even went as far as to snore slightly), and quietly made their way over to her bed. She could sense that someone was standing over her ( _please go away and let me wake up in my own time!_ ) and she tried really hard not to smile. If she kept it up for a few more minutes they'd go away.

An incredibly gentle hand pressed against her forehead followed by a concerned sigh. They lightly brushed their fingers across her cheek (the woman Sprite'd earned her nickname from was famous for her ridiculously long nails. Perhaps it was her who had one to check on her), and carefully pressed two fingers against the side of her neck.

Okay, this was getting weird. What was going on?'

She pretended to stir slightly and the fingers abruptly left. She didn't miss the short gasp that preluded the _clump-clump-clump_ of chunky heels rushing across hardwood floor. The door eventually clicked shut.

More bell ringing, more voices.

Sprite dared to open her eyes. Everything happened just as she'd predicted. The shock of intense sunlight made her jolt from the unexpected sensory onslaught and screwed her eyes shut. The sudden movement made her stomach lurch and she heard it all gurgling around in there. She had to sit still with her eyes closed (gently, this time) to make sure she wouldn't be sick. She waited for the room to stop tilting and leering around her before she eased her eyes open again. Upon doing so, staring directly at the lavishly-draped window, Sprite realised that the pleasant ringing sounds weren't bells at all. They were wind chimes.

And if there was one thing the lord of the Elwood manner hated more than anything, it was wind chimes.

The reality of the situation began to dawn on her. Each new observation washed over her in a wave of all-encompassing fear. When she saw that the window was less of a window and more of a glass wall, which the Elwood manner definitely did not have. When she noticed the view featured rolling green hills as far as the eye could see, when they Elwood manner was surrounded by wind turbines. When she sat up and pulled herself free of the restricting covers, only to see that they were a silky deep black, patterned with gold, whimsical swirls. When she didn't recognise a single feature in the entire bedroom (especially not the statuettes of naked marble boys standing atop their pedestals in their concave homes in the walls in all their immodest glory), and - and this is the game-changer, ladies and gents - when she saw her reflection staring back at her through the mirrored doors of the wardrobe, and instantly caught sight of a rather unattractive egg on her head. Bruised, swollen, as now that she was aware of it, incredibly sore.

That could only mean one thing: it wasn't a dream. Everything she thought had happened had actually happened. It was all real, there was no escaping from it, and now she sat in a a complete stranger's bed in an extremely remote location, and no one even knew she was here.

Sprite's fight or flight response kicked in, and she did the only feasible thing she could think of: she screamed.

She took a deep lungful of air and screamed at the top of her voice. All her senses kicked in at once and suddenly she didn't quite know what to do with herself so she did a little bit of everything. She tasted her tears but she didn't feel them, her breathing became shallow and hitched, she grabbed the covers and yanked them over her head.

All of her friends once confessed that they used to think monsters, ghosts and murderers were physically incapable of moving the covers away so they could kill you. As long as they had their covers, they were safe. No matter how childish the logic was, Sprite put all of her faith in that method now.

The door opened once again, except this time it was pushed so hard that it slammed against the wall. The same _clump-clump-clump_ was back, now it was full of intent and urgency. They pulled up a chair beside the bed. The close proximity of whoever the fuck she'd fallen into the hands of only freaked her out more, causing her to kick harder and scream louder. She waited to hear a gunshot, the slash of a knife, even shouting and taunting would've been more anticipated than what actually happened.

'Everything's alright, my darling, you're perfectly safe now, I promise.'

Sprite fell silent immediately. Not because she was reassured, or even calm. She stopped because she was shocked. She was completely and utterly dumbfounded as to how respectful and perfectly reasonable-voiced her saviour/captor was. An adult male, articulate and sophisticated. As sexist as she knew it was, the fact that it was a man made the comment a lot less soothing than it was intended to be. That, and he was one of those slimy men that called her 'darling' and 'sweetheart' all the time. She was desperate for familiarity, but not that desperate. His Belgravia accent was so strong she might've suspected he was putting it on if she hadn't been otherwise scared for her life.

'You come out when you're ready, dear, I understand this must be quite scary. I'm not going to hurt you, I can promise you that, however there are a few questions is like to ask you when you feel comfortable enough to talk to me. In the meantime, I'll talk and you listen.'

Sprite was still too frozen to say anything. Her leg was beginning to cramp and she was sick of breathing this steal air, but she just couldn't get her body to respond to anything.

'Do you think you could try looking at me now? You don't have to say anything, you don't even have to be polite, just let me see you're alright. Please, darling, cross my heart and hope to die, you are safe now. I only want to help you, dear, please trust me on that.'

Sprite was slightly taken aback by the intensity of his words, and she had begun to feel quite childish and guilty for assuming the worst even after he'd taken her in from the rain and given her a warm bed for the night. She took a deep breath of (hot) air, said a quick prayer and slowly lowered the rim of the covers just enough to peek timidly over the top.

If Sprite was dumbfounded before, she was all but brain-dead now. She was immediately presented with a pair of large grey eyes that burned with the deepest sympathy and the greatest concern. Just in the split second where she looked directly into his eyes before she took in the rest of him, she noticed how they contained flecks of brown and gold, changing from solid grey to hues of blue and green in the light. She always thought that her eyes were the most aesthetically pleasing. She felt rather one-upped now.

Observing the rest of his appearance was far less pleasing. The first thing she noticed was his hair. Thick, the blackest of blacks and a direct homage to everyone who touched one of those glowing orbs in the science fiction films. Or an electric fence in real life. It took Sprite far too long to realise that his eyes weren't particularly intense because of the light or because of her heightened senses. His eyes popped right out because they were framed by a hooded eyelid painted with dark shades of eyeshadow. Pigmented, heavy, and blended to perfection. The black tight lining only made his eyes seem even more bright, complete with stacked false eyelashes and a serious case of loose glitter fallout. He'd drawn his eyebrows on thin and ridiculously arched in what appeared to be kohl pencil (Sharpie?), and seemed to use the same product to draw way above his natural lip line and fill it in with red lipstick that Sprite could never hope to wear without getting it all over her teeth. The caked-on, pale foundation made everything stand out even more, if that was possible. He did have fierce contour though, and wore enough highlighter for Stevie Wonder to see him coming.

His outfit consisted of a black, shimmery corset under a dark denim jacket complete with I'm-thirteen-and-normal-people-scare-me inspired patches, garters, underwear that looked very much like a pair Sprite herself owned, and frightfully high silver platforms that sparkled aggressively and made a disco ball effect on the walls.

His entire character screamed pantomime. She didn't quite know how to react. All her life she thought she knew what eccentric meant, how not to judge a book by it's cover and all that. She was genuinely scared to open her mouth in case she reflexively threw an insult at him.

She half-expected the cameras to come out and for someone to admit they'd been playing with her. But, the tears she was holding back were less of fear and more of complete and utter relief.

If the rest of the house was anything like the room she sat in now, that could only mean one thing: he was filthy rich. She was rich too, as much as she detested declaring it, even to herself. In her community, everyone knew everyone else. Name dropping was the fastest way to the top apart from legitimate money and sex. He must know someone, anyone with the slightest connection to her. This helped her settle down enough to be able to sit up properly and stop cowering under the covers like a child.

He gave her a beaming smile, showing a perfect set of gleaming white teeth. Was everything about this man supposed to make her feel like a potato or what.

'There she is.' His voice was even softer than her would've been (if she could speak) but she still jumped. He hung his head slightly as he tried to suppress his laughter, took her hand and kissed the back of it before holding it firmly between his own. 'You've had quite the adventure, little mouse.'

Oh, great. Five seconds in and she'd already earned a sickly sweet pet name for sneaking around in the middle of the night like a fucking nut-job.

She opened her mouth to respond but she couldn't quite get the words out. She battled with herself for a few moments before he gave her hand a comforting squeeze and smiled kindly at her.

'Come on now, darling I might look scary, but I'm not going to hurt you.' Sprite guessed she wasn't supposed to hear the irritated 'as I keep saying,' muttered under his breath. She instantly felt awful and made to apologise, but he merely gave her an understanding look and silenced her with a gesture of his hand. 'Why don't you start by telling me your name?'

She went to answer, but nothing came out. She cleared her throat lightly and still only managed to whisper 'I'm Sprite.'

Oh, perfect. As a force of habit, she'd given her childish nickname in favour of her real name. Not only did she seem cowardly, uncooperative and ungrateful, she now sounded like she was creating fanciful names for herself.

He gave her a look which indisputably confirmed everything she'd just thought - he didn't believe her - but he gave a light sigh and smiled at her again.

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Sprite.' He raised an eyebrow slightly at the vocalisation of her name. Almost as if she didn't already know she'd messed up. 'You took quite the spill,' he said, a lot more seriously now. 'What do you remember?'

'Well...' There was no point lying, she might as well tell him everything that happened. 'I was at a party,' she began, and his face lightened considerably at how quickly she cooperated. 'And obviously there was a lot of alcohol. We all got quite drunk - very drunk, then, don't look at me like that - and then there's a complete blank spot in my memory. I've no idea how I got out in the rain but I think I was looking for my friends. I don't know how long I was walking for, but eventually I found your castle and...well, I guess you know the rest.' She hung her head as she finished her recollection, the humiliation and embarrassment of the situation finally hitting her.

'You've got nothing to be embarrassed about, dear.' He seemed to read her mind. Or at least see the one or two tears that she couldn't hold in. 'We've all been there. If this is the worst mistake you're going to make, then you're practically a saint.'

Sprite spluttered a laugh as she plucked up the courage to ask him another question. 'How - how long was I out for? What happened after I collapsed?'

He looked at his lap, shaking his head and smiling gently. 'I almost thought you weren't going to ask that. I expected you to be scared, but I never expected you to faint. I must admit, it was a lot easier to get you cleaned up and into a proper bed for the night. I checked your head, it'll be sore for a few days and quite unsightly, but there's no worries there. You did, however, keep waking up throughout the night. You were very distressed, understandably, but I knew you wouldn't remember any of it in the morning. I did what I had to to calm you down, but if course I didn't do anything indecent towards you. You went off for the last time at about five in the morning and you've been sound ever since. Until now.'' He added with another dashing smile, winking at her.

Sprite stared back at him for a second. '...This definitely isn't a dream, then?'

He laughed and shook his head, kissing her hand again. 'I'm afraid not, darling, this is all real, I assure you.'

Sprite finally felt brave enough to return the smile and he easily could've exploded with happiness.

'So...so where is this? Where am I now? Actually who are you? I just realised I haven't asked that.' Her small laugh wasn't forced, for the first time in...well, forever.

He literally appeared to be on cloud nine with how much more relaxed she had become. Well, you're in my house. My name is Frank-N-Furter, but that's a bit of a mouthful, so you can call me Frank.'

So a refreshing lemon and lime flavoured soft drink was so implausible but a classic German sausage wasn't? Okay then.

Sprite felt her eyes narrowing in scrutiny against her better judgment. She mouthed ' _Mister...missus...'_ at him as she was too embarrassed to make a big deal out of it.

He mouthed ' _doctor...'_ , pulling the exact same facial expression as her. It made her laugh, but her face betrayed her again as she felt her eyes widening in surprise.

He sent her another understanding look and said, 'A scientist, if you must be pedantic.'

Admittedly (terrifyingly?) that made a ridiculous amount of sense. Eccentric, reclusive masterminds that worked tirelessly to prove their groundbreaking theories, permanently unhinging themselves in the process.

 _Oh, God, Sprite, don't say that._

'Well,' his - Frank, she supposed she must call him now - brisk words snapped her out of her daydream. He untangled their hands and stood up, stretching his body to its full height. 'I've spent far to much time talking at you when you really should be focusing on your recovery. If you need to sleep some more, be my guest. My bathroom's just through there, use whatever you need. I'll have something for you to eat and drink soon.'

He leaned over her, and for one awful moment she thought he was going to kiss her forehead. She let out a deep sigh of relief when he turned on the wall light above her head.

Reading her mind again, he shot backwards and gave her an intensely reproachful look. She watched as his hands slowly clenched to hold fistfuls of the the covers. He turned and walked away so abruptly that she jumped, and all but froze in fear when he stopped in the doorway.

'Do you know how easy it would've been...', he muttered darkly, almost to himself. 'To touch you in your sleep?'

He was all the way across the room, leaning right over her in seconds. She let out a small scream and tried to cover her face but he held her wrists to the bed. 'I could've done anything to you last night. You were so drunk you couldn't even remember your own name.' He spat, glaring at her in a way that made her whole body shake. 'I could've kissed you, touched you, fucked you again and again, as many times as I wanted, but I didn't. It wasn't easy, don't get me wrong, especially with such a delicious thing like you in my bed all night. Instead, I sheltered you, consoled you, kept you safe and warm, offered you hospitality and I've been nothing but honest with you, and you _still_ think I'm dangerous?'

Sprite's eyes were like saucers now, she could feel it. She thought she might get a slap, she couldn't even disagree with it.

'I'll tell you something, little mouse, he almost sneered, placing a hand gently under her chin and tilting her head up to look right into his eyes, burning with rage and perhaps even a little hurt. 'You're a thing of beauty, but you've got some serious growing up to do.'

She understood everything now. Isolation could do things to a person. The doctor, transvestite, serial killer, whatever the fuck he was, was a lot of things.

Eccentric. Flamboyant. Sophisticated. Intelligent. Compassionate. Neurotic. Temperamental. And fucking insane.

She was suddenly very scared.

He roughly released her, giving her one last, hard stare and stalked out.

'Dinner's at five,' he muttered, and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

 **I'm knitting with only one needleUnraveling fast it's trueI'm driving only three wheels these daysBut my dear, how about you?**

I'm Going Slightly Mad - Queen

* * *

 **A/N**

 ***fanfare ensues***

 **I have Bridesmaids on in the background and it's really hard to take this seriously.**

 **Don't forget to leave a review/favourite/follow if you're enjoying the story so far. Do the kids say RR?**

 **Thank you for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	3. Chapter Three

**People left reviews already what the frickle frackle.**

 **Shoutout to LandyShadow for popping my review cherry! Also to Guest - just Guest, anonymity is the new frontier, apparently - who I shall re-name reviewer number two.**

 **The fact that people are expressing an interest in this story already is so fantastic, thank you so much! And to any other readers out there please don't be shy, I'd love to know what you think.**

 **I'm excruciatingly inexperienced with this whole author's note thing, in case you couldn't tell. I'll leave it there, and now we're back to the story.**

* * *

It took every ounce of self control Frank possessed to not violently throw every solid object in his wake. The rage he felt was indescribable, and had remained so for years, despite the constant influx of people who had attempted to coax, tempt, threaten the explanation out of him.

He'd been compared to a volcano numerous times throughout his life, and it was probably the only intelligent observation his native people ever made. His anger would lay dormant for months, sometimes years, and on the surface, to the shallow, ignorant minds of everyone else it appeared as nothing more than a beautiful, unpredictable and slightly intimidating phenomenon. Something they'd be equally proud and wary to call their own.

If anyone plucked up enough courage to scale the mountain, chase the storm or monitor the volcano, they'd find the hot, restless substance that bubbled below the surface, threatening to take lives and incinerate colonies at any moment. Only the most knowledgable, equipped and curious ones would consider it, and they came few and far between. He was surrounded by idiots who didn't even realise that that was an option.

When the inevitable eruption commenced, the oblivious ones couldn't merely run from it. They'd be utterly consumed by it. No hope for the ones who stood too close.

Which is why Frank was particularly livid with himself on this occasion. He'd allowed his mind to lull him into a false sense of dormancy for so long that he'd stupidly permitted himself to be alone in that room with her.

He was relatively alright at first, but something about the utter insolence of the mindless girl really set him off. He couldn't understand why anyone, let alone someone as young and full of life as her would ever put themselves in that level of jeopardy. He saw the rebellion that has once burned inside of himself, and for the short while that she was his responsibility, he would do everything in his power to steer her on a different path. Frank knew how spontaneity could permanently affect a person's life, even if it seemed adventurous and fun at first. He'd be damned before he let anyone else fall as hard as he did.

He was also irritated by how much she'd blatantly lied to him. He was human enough to appreciate that she must be scared out of her mind, and he'd did his best to relax and reassure her. He also completely understood the importance of maintaining anonymity in the company of a perfect stranger - but to refer to herself as Sprite was just ridiculous.

Admittedly it did suit her: she was significantly softer, sweeter, more elf-like than any other females he'd been in contact with, with her ice blonde hair and vivid blue eyes, but she flushed scarlet as soon as she said it, it really couldn't have been more obvious. He'd let her know she hadn't gotten away with lying, but decided not to take it further on account of him desperately trying to stay composed.

Frank had never been so appalled by the utter audacity of one person before, and he very nearly lost it. He didn't even want to think about what would've happened if the sight of her tears hadn't smacked him upside the head. He'd behaved in a perfectly respectable manner: he'd been kind and reassuring, soothing her when she got emotional, he held the drunken, traumatised thing in his arms, for God's sake, yet she still thought he had alternative motives. If she had woken up to a woman, or indeed, another man, she wouldn't have dared to consider such things, and that's what really infuriated him.

Words tumbled and hands groped and tears fell. In the split second that fury seized him, he managed to obliterate any and all hope of establishing trust between them.

Frank suffered terribly with his temper, but he'd been trying so hard to tackle it for so long, and he was not about to have it all ruined by some discriminatory, ungrateful little brat that didn't even deserve his presence, let alone his hospitality. In fact, he had a mind to go in there and give her a piece of his mind, teach the bitch a thing or two about respect, she'd certainly have a reason to be wary of him then-.

Luckily this time, Frank was able to realise that this was only his anger talking, and he had enough sense to detach his body from his mind, thus sparing himself the misery of mindlessly attacking such an exquisite little thing.

It settled over him slowly, as if on purpose to spite him. It let him know that no matter how long it took, or how hard he fought against it, it would always continue to seize complete control over him. He'd feel doused in it, and it would slowly congregate into an excruciating, barbed knot in his chest.

The pain, anger and frustration would be taken out by anything - or anyone - that was foolish enough to get too close. His temper had exiled him, prevented him from earning anyone's trust and now provided the reason for the poor girl to never sleep again.

It was like a drug to him, a sick, twisted addiction. The release offered an escape. It acted as an anaesthetic, and it cruelly tempted him with that sweet darkness every time. But, like any drug, the effects would always wear off. He'd focus back into reality surrounded by destruction and submerged in nothing but contempt. The only salvation was the immense relief that came with the knowledge that the surrounding people were (physically, at least) unscathed.

That was the worst part: Frank never remembered anything he said or did afterwards. Realistically he could've done absolutely anything and would have no recollection of it when he finally came back around.

Frank slumped against the wall and fought the bile rising in his throat. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep, controlled breath to relinquish the very last of the flames. He was at his most vunerable when trapped inside his head. Others would laugh at the irony of that being the very first place he would go to find sanctuary.

With one final deep sigh he pulled himself together and strode downstairs. Anyone who saw him from now on wouldn't have even the slightest incling that anything was wrong. He was like a different person.

'Oh, but that's not fair!' A piercing, high pitched female voice only grew louder as Frank approached the kitchen.

'Didn't anyone tell you that life isn't fair?' A deeper, heavily accented female, who clearly had no time for the previous speaker taunted in response. He heard the sound of a slap, followed by an evident fight. Chairs scraping, feet scuffling.

He pushed open the door as they yelped and screamed under each other's grasp. His maid, the taller of the two had the other bent over the table by a fistful of her red bob, and was gripping on it for all she was worth, while his...well, he didn't know what she was doing here, really, threw insults at her opponent and pummelled the table. Frank rolled his eyes, grabbed them both by the scruffs of thier outfits and separated them with one hard pull.

' _What_ could you _possibly_ be fighting about _this_ time?' He spoke with the tired sigh of a bored parent.

'Magenta cheated! She always cheats and then I have to be the one to do something janky!' Her vocabulary never failed to amaze and irritate him. If she ever received any schooling, it was certainly a mystery to him.

'Oh, shut up Columbia, it's not like you would've understood how to win anyway.' He had to wrestle them apart as they both went for each other again. They both reminisced Bambi on ice as they stepped on the playing cards and poker ships that were strewn all over the floor. He tried very hard to not laugh.

'See!' Columbia stuck out an accusatory hand at her. He had to admit, Magenta did have a point, but he wasn't about to make things worse. 'Why aren't you sticking up for me? Don't you thing cheating is a sin?'

'Your stupid religion is irrelevant to our race, you dumb whore!'

He very neatly lost his grip on them that time. 'Alright, shut up!' They both panted in rage as they glared at each other. He turned his attention back to Columbia, and pursed his lips thoughtfully. 'Maybe.' He answered. 'What did you bet?'

Columbia snarled in rage while Magenta cackled triumphantly.

'Go on, you tell him. It was you're ingenious idea, after all.' Magenta stuck her chin out and raised her eyebrows, a smug smile plastered to her face. He felt Columbia's small body tense up at the bait. She huffed, furrowed her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

'I was so sure that I was going to win this time that...' She gave a heaving sigh. 'I said whoever loses would have to bathe Riff Raff.'

Magenta screamed and clapped her hand together manically. Frank felt his top lip curl upwards in disgust. _Oh, I'm surrounded by animals._ He looked up and realised the man in question was awkwardly hovering in the doorway. A vulgar creature was Riff Raff, all hunched over and greasy.

'You couldn't have sorted this?' He accused. Riff Raff gave Frank an odd look and shuffled off wordlessly.

Every day he questioned his housing desicions more and more. Riff Raff was an utter weakling: zero backbone, contrary to the apperance. If it wasn't for the extortionate amount of equipment he needed and the level of which to operate it, he would've gotten rid of him long ago.

Columbia was a whiney, spoiled brat. She was wildly attractive to him at first, and they'd certainly had thier fun together, but she soon got far too comfortable and began making ridiculous demands. And, God, was she attached. If he believed in reincarnation, she would certainly come back as a glue stick. One of those really annoying, gender-stereotyped pink glittery ones. But, then again without her no one could go out into the general population for food and other necessities unnoticed.

Magenta was the only one he actually tolerated - she was intelligent, their ambitions and mindsets were very similar. She was the only one who understood when to stay out of his way and when to interact with him. But, even that came at a price. Her extensive knowledge of his frenzied mind gave her the power to push him to the absolute edge, and elicit the most vulgar, inhumane acts from somewhere deep and twisted inside of him. As if that wasn't enough, she adored her brother, Riff Raff. He'd obliged at first, and felt lucky to have secured a handyman and a domestic so quickly. But, even Transylvanians had thier boundaries, and incestual relations was definitely one of them. His stomach churned in disgust at the technicolour bruises that littered her neck and chest.

Frank eventually released the two girls after he was certain they wouldn't tear each other's throats out. 'Ladies, please, I run an establishment, not a circus. Have some decorum, especially when we have a guest in the house.'

Magenta's eyes lit up, and she slammed her hands down on the table. 'Have you kicked her out? You better have kicked her out, Furter, or I swear to fucking God-.'

'Don't talk to me like that in my own house.' Frank's firm tone overshadowed Columbia's petty little _I thought God was irrelevant?_ remark. Frank glared at her and she shut up immediately. 'Columbia, make yourself useful and take her clothes upstairs to her.' She gave a heaving sigh and walked out sulkily.

Magenta made a rude gesture at her back and Frank pushed her hand down before she noticed. He waited until she was safely out of earshot before he continued. 'To answer your question, Magenta, no I have not kicked her out, and nor do I intend to. I have not threatened her, I have not scolded her, I have not done anything to her, other than calm her down and allow her to collect herself. Then, when she feels ready she can be escorted back to her house.'

'And how is she expected to accomplish that?' Magenta demanded. 'Because I'm certainly not doing anything for her, you can stick that idea right up your...' Her words dissolved into thin air as Frank all but annihilated her with his eyes.

Magenta sensed that, somewhere in there, he was daring her to finish her sentence and more. That way, he could have a reason to smack her like he oh so wanted to at that moment.

She was provoking him so hard, nothing gave her greater pleasure than to see him fighting with himself, especially after he'd royally pissed her off. Like today, for example.

She squared up to him - or at least tried to. Frank just found it amusing, he was at least a head taller than her even without the heels on. Eyes glittering with smug pride, she completely abandoned her subject. 'She at least deserves some form of punishment.' She continued rather quietly, watching gleefully as he reluctantly let the anger deflate out of him. 'What kind of person does that? Isn't respecting other's privacy one of your biggest 'house rules'? Poor Riff won't be able to come to bed for a week.' She tilted her chin up and gave him the most antagonising of grins.

Magenta wasn't the slightest bit scared: he'd struck her many times before, and the reward came after when he had that look of bitter self-hatred for hours.

Frank was struggling to rid his mind of the abhorrent images her words had conjured up. It sickened him to even think about, even more so when she spoke about it so proudly. As if it was normal. Accepted. He forced the urge to strangle her to evaporate before he followed through.

'Magenta, don't even bother trying me with that. You know perfectly well how I feel about the...questionable way in which you choose to spend time with your brother. She doesn't seem to remember it, as she was under the influence, but I whole-heartedly support and agree with her actions, even if it was in a drunken stupor.'

Columbia skipped into the room and sat back down, anticipating an argument and looking forward to watching it.

'You're only keeping her because she's pretty.' Magenta scoffed, rolling her eyes. 'You want to fuck her brains out. That's how you treat all of them, but you only ever respect the pretty ones. I don't know where you find these people, honestly, they're so desperate for sex they fall into your bed just like that. Although, I have to admit, I do understand why you treat them like that.' Magenta paused. 'I'd be scavenging for power too if my own people shunned me out.'

For once, Columbia threw her arms up in agreement, exchanging a broad grin of delighted relief with her friend. Frank wasn't stupid, Columbia was only happy because Magenta didn't make her say it.

Magenta turned to leave, but Frank caught her by the arm before she could take a step. He was gripping her very hard, he saw her fight to keep from wincing and his fingers were turning white from the pressure. 'Address me like that again, and you'll have a lot to answer for. Don't think I won't throw you out, because I will. The idea becomes more appealing every day, actually, especially since you've been behaving like a spoiled brat when you don't get your way all the time. Your brother, on the other hand, has been a pleasure to work with. I wouldn't worry about him if you ever did leave. I'll be there for him, I'll always be there. I'd take _ever_ such good care of him, I promise you that.'

Magenta's stomach dropped. They all knew the inhumane way he treated Riff Raff, and Magenta couldn't even disagree with it. Not without severing all ties and ending up out on the streets of this filthy unfamiliar planet. Alone.

They had broken the law, Frank got them out and subsequently used the 'I have given you everything' card any chance he got. Pushing him too far would only end their lives: Magenta wouldn't last two days on her own, and Frank certainly would not let her brother leave. He'd be subjected to his masters blazing temper and crazed imagination, even more so if she wasn't around. Having Magenta to run to afterwards was the only thing keeping Riff Raff alive at the moment, they all knew that.

With no argument left to make, Magenta narrowed her eyes at him, yanked her arm out of his grip and stalked off, absentmindedly flicking her feather duster as she went. Frank made a mental note to tell Columbia to get a new one next time she ventured out. It had been missing recently, and now he knew perfectly well where it had been. Or rather, in whom. It had been utilised alright, but it certainly wasn't for cleaning.

'Well?' He turned to Columbia, hands on his hips in irritation. 'How is she?'

'She's so weird.' She giggled. 'She trembled like a stupid little chihuahua the whole time.'

'Eddie's motorcycle is safe for two people to ride, yes?' The light in Columbia's eyes vanished in an instant, like someone had pulled a plug out. She hung her head and nodded at the floor sadly. 'Excellent.' He said, completely ignoring her distressed state. 'You can take her into the town and she can make her own way back from there.'

He went into the elevator and pulled the door shut, with intentions to go up to the lab. He hadn't made any advancement in the last week, and the events of the last twenty four hours put even more of a strain on the development of his work.

'Aren't you worried about how she got here?'

He pushed the door back open to stare at Columbia quizzically. 'Excuse me?'

'I certainly haven't seen her before, she shouldn't even be able to see the house. At least, not with your 'ingenious concealment technology.' Columbia's entire demenour grew even more irritating as she felt the need to create quotation marks with her fingers. 'No one's turned the machine off since last month, I only checked it just last night and it was on like it always is. She should've only seen that Neibolt House looking thing, I don't understand how she saw straight through it.'

 _You wouldn't understand how to tie your own shoes_ , Frank muttered internally, before snapping, 'Do you honestly think I haven't considered that?' All the frustration of the past twenty four hours was fighting to be released and it was in Columbia's best interest to get well out of the way. 'I know she hasn't been here before. She might not be able to recognise me, but I certainly would have recognised her. There's clearly a fault in the machinery, she'll be gone by tomorrow morning at the latest, and I'll just have to teach Riff Raff not to be so careless next time.'

Columbia scoffed and stared back at him in distaste. Of course he'd blame Riff Raff for the mistakes, even though both her and Magenta knew that Riff Raff was the real genius behind all of Frank's greatest achievements.

'Now, go and tell Magenta to start preparing dinner,' he ordered, closing the elevator door. 'She will be dining with us, that's non-negotiable.'

Frank attempted to clear his mind on the way up to his room, essentially psyching himself up for another one on one session with the girl.

He refused to accept that he would never find a way to manage his anger one day. His thoughts were dangerous. That made him dangerous too. And it frightened him.

* * *

 **Nowhere man don't worry  
Take your time, don't hurry  
Leave it all till somebody else  
Lends you a hand**

Nowhere Man - The Beatles

* * *

 **A/N**

 **The gang's all here!**

 **Dysfunctional families are always delightfully hilarious to write. Frank's having a internalised Shakespearean soliloquy, Riff's testing the water temperature and we have some scandalous cover-ups on par with Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky going on in here.**

 **Review, favourite, follow, all that jazz. Really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you soon.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	4. Chapter Four

**Guess who's back?/?/?/?/**

 **Big shoutout to Hazel Ashwood for popping my favourite cherry. I certainly was not expecting that, but it sure felt good. Another huge thank you to LandyShadow for another one of your reviews, you seem to be enjoying my story so far, amd I'm really glad about that.**

 **I don't have a particular update schedule, but if anyone would like to have a regular basis kinda thing going on, do let me know and I'll do my best to stick to it.**

 **Let chapter four commence.**

* * *

Though the elevator ride to the top floor was fairly short, Frank managed to think about a lot of things on the way up.

Columbia had said that Sprite, or whatever her real name was, was perfectly fine. Now, that should have come as a relief to Frank, but he didn't trust her one bit. The poor girl could be laying in a pool of her own blood and Columbia would have no qualms in merrily declaring that she was doing very well. He immediately decided to forfeit his work in exchange for the girl's optimum safety, which led him to another obstacle: what in the world he had said to her last. Common sense told him to watch the footage back from one of the television monitors, but then he remembered he'd put her to bed in his own room - the only room in the entire damn house with no cameras. Frank easily could've kicked himself - carefully though, he wouldn't want his intelligence shattered as well as his dignity.

As he got closer to the floor featuring only his bedroom, his lab and the room with the darkest connotations, which only the most disrespectful and badly behaved people had seen the inside of, or indeed, even knew existed, Frank heard the sound of his captivating little mouse crying. She wasn't sobbing, it was hardly gut-wrenching, but it was enough to feel slightly guilty, and immediately afterwards, have a rather marvellous idea.

He needed to find out more about her. As much as information as he could get, her age, her hometown, her school, her family, her friend's families, literally anything that could give the slightest clue to her peculiar immunity to thier foolproof technology.

The reason her arrival had come as a particular shock to all of them was that she definetly had not been to the house before. The machine that Frank had conversed with Columbia about moments before, nothing bigger than a record player, had been invented by Frank during thier time on Earth. Currently sat in the garden, secluded by the rose bushes, was capable of emitting a beam to surround the entire house, and an extra three miles in every direction, that manipulated the structure to appear as a run-down warehouse, too dangerous to venture near - haphazardly nailed wooden planks, broken windows with precariously loose glass shards that flailed in the wind like deadly flags, cracked, naked bulbs that buzzed and flickered alarmingly, occasionally spouting white hot sparks - to the naked human eye. The illusion had worked perfectly for years, yet somehow, this young, lost, soft, beautiful girl had seen right through the camouflage.

The machine could be turned off. That would be the logical explanation, except that hadn't happened because Frank was outside, wandering around the garden to clear his head, mere hours before the girl had stumbled into his bedroom. He had checked it then, and everything was in order. The machine would only be turned off when himself or Columiba had found one or more people that they'd quite like to bring back to the house. More specifically, the bedroom. They'd have thier fun with the guests, and when the novelty had worn off, thier memories would be erased and they'd go on with thier lives, completely oblivious to however many sins they committed between them that night.

One slight annoyance was that it was currently outside the realms of science to be able to erase one's memory completely, therefore small pockets of recollection would always remain. From then on, they'd be able to see the mirage for what it really was: the house. Frank never worried about this minor detail, however, and encouraged his housemates to do the same, as they were located in the middle of nowhere. It was highly unlikely that any of the previous guests would ever find themselves in thier area again.

Which begs the question: why in the world was she different? He'd already decided he was going to get more information from her, but he couldn't very well do that after he'd traumatised the poor thing half to death. If only there was a way to pretend that hadn't happened...

With that in mind, Feank chose to divert to his lab instead of his bedroom, and immediately rifled through the many crates scattered around the floor, each one filled to bursting with various solutions and powders. One was face down, with puddles of rainbow coloured liquids slowly leaking into one another, sprinkled with deathly sharp shards of broken glass. It had been left there for seven days now, after Frank had thrown a monumental tantrum and threw the entire thing from the table in a fit of frustration. Standing it in afterwards was not fun. Some might call it karma, Frank just called it spite. Not only did he very nearly do the splits, arms windmilling, legs splayed, clinging on the table for dear life, his six inch dagger pumps had been eroded to two inches, and Magenta's shameless cackling had mingled with him squealing like a pig. The entire thing had been caught on camera, and he threatened each and everyone of them with 'a tragic accident faster than you can say very steep concrete stairwell in a cctv black spot!', if they didn't delete it immediately.

The reason why Frank never met any of his deadlines (no matter how important they were) was that he was so easily distracted. The correct bottle had been staring him in the face the whole time, but he'd been two busy daydreaming about his humiliation to see it. The solution in question caused the consumer to experience short term memory loss, in the most extreme sense. The effects ranged from wiping the last fifteen minutes to half an hour, it was the perfect way to make her susceptible to him again. He just had to figure out a way to get it into her system discreetly. Ice cubes would have been the obvious answer, but he really didn't have the time to wait for them to freeze.

He took the stairs back down to the first floor, carrying the glass bottle with him and going straight to the kitchen. He needed to put it in something for her to drink. Luckily the solution was clear, Frank hoped that it wouldn't appear too obvious in another liquid. It was odourless and didn't taste of anything, so it would probably be fine.

Alcohol was already out of the question, water would've been a bit too risky, and he couldn't be bothered to make coffee or tea.

'Columbia, what's the drink that you like?' Frank called, almost hitting his head on the top of the fridge as he rummaged through it fruitlessly. The girl who was unashamedly obsessed with him echoed him sarcastically.

'How the fuck am I supposed to know what drink you're talking about?'

'Oh, you know what I mean!' Frank had had a long day, he was frustrated and tired. 'That awful bubbly stuff, it comes in that vulgar green colour and it tastes like irresponsible parenting.'

Between her genuine laughter, she said, 'Do you mean Sprite?'

Frank blinked. 'How did you know that she-.'

Columbia reached far back into the American style fridge and pulled out a green bottle. 'This?' She asked, handing it to him.

Frank's mind was in that thick, hazy stage of confusion, so he just thanked Columbia and went back upstairs, poured a quarter of the drink into the sink and filled the rest of the plastic bottle up with the solution. He shook the bottle vigorously, remembered three quarters of it was carbonated and could've cried with how inconveniently this entire day was going, caught most of the explosion in the sink and poured it into a glass over ice.

Frank only noticed the difference because he knew it was there - the liquid closer to the top of the glass didn't bubble as much as the rest, but to a dazed and confused street rat it would appear just fine. He wouldn't be able to relax before she drank it, but he just had to figure out a way to actually give it to her. Leaving the glass on the floor outside of the door was the easiest option, but it was also shamefully cowardly. Frank was a lot of things, but he most certainly was not a coward. The other option was to listen to that nagging voice perpetually haunting him and hold her undoubtably struggling body still and force it down her throat, but once he got to that dark place he wasn't sure that he'd be able to get out.

He willed himself to stop overthinking everything, strode to the door and rapped on it smartly. Perhaps a little too smartly, he didn't miss the hushed yelp and the breathless 'fucking hell' the preluded the very cautious opening of the door.

She opened it just a crack and peered out tentatively. He already knew that she had been upset, but seeing her large blue eye spoiled by glassy redness (just the one - the door obstructed the rest of his view), made him feel absolutely sucker-punched by remorse. Freshly washed silver hair framed her pale, heart-shaped face (the only reason he knew that was because she now stank of spiced roses), and gently curled to sit just above her shoulders, which glistened slightly, another indication that she had sorted herself out in almsot complete silence. He hadn't gifted her the pet name for nothing, but that was just ridiculous.

In actual fact, silence only ensued for all of two seconds after she opened the door. The second thier eyes met in another almost unbelievable circumstance, she began to plead.

'I'm sorry.' Her voice was so much stronger than it previously had been, which both surprised and relieved Frank. He wouldn't have known what to do with himself if he had been the reason for her permanent, crippling shyness. 'I'm really sorry, you were right, I was just being childish, but I know I should've been more grateful towards you, and I am, I really am, I just didn't know what to do and I got scared and my imagination ran away with me and I-.'

'Slow down, darling, you'll make yourself ill if you panic like that.' He gave her an understanding look and handed the glass over to her. 'You've got nothing to apologise for, dear. It was a lot for you to handle at once, I was a fool to think you wouldn't suffer from it.' He gave her a reassuring smile, which she nervously returned. 'That might make you feel a little better.'

Frank watched her intently as she took it hesitatingly and studied it for a moment. Sprite was still very wary of just about everything in this house. Already she'd anticipated the paintings to be drop-panels in disguise, with monsters or at least people very scarily dressed up to be on the other side, waiting to scare her. She also screwed her eyes shut and practically tore the shower curtain off the rail in her ninja-inspired movement, waiting to find a dead body or a skeleton in there. And now, she half expected eyeballs to rise above the surface as she gently twirled the straw around, listening to the clink of the ice.

She took a cautious sip and her whole face instantly lit up. 'This is-!' She caught herself before she came across as even more immature than she already had done. It was nothing more than that rush of familiarity that loosened the knot in her stomach that had been tied so tightly for so long. Sprite hadn't realised how thirsty she was until she took the first sip, and she drank over half of it - Frank didn't take his eyes off her once. She tutted when she realised she'd been talking at him through a crack, and aggressively pushed the door wide open.

Her eyes glazed over beautifully, her knees becoming weak and shaky, forcing her to slump against the doorframe for support. She screwed her eyes shut, whimpered pitifully, and just like that, it was over. She stood up straight, re-adjusted her hair and smiled politely at him. Albeit with an air of significant bemusement.

'Dinner's at five.' Frank echoed his parting shot quietly to see whether the drug had taken effect. This would be news to her if the concoction had performed correctly.

'Oh, okay. But, I really wouldn't want to overstay my welcome, really, you've done more than more than enough for me already and that last thing I'd want to do is impose-.'

'Look, what did I just say about panicking?' He interrupted her again, and smiled kindly at her. Internally, he was almost dancing for joy at just how perfectly the entire plan went. She really did look quite dazed, as if she wasn't sure whether she'd just woken up or had just been daydreaming. She was trying hard to feign normality, but similar to his attitude towards the mixture, Frank only noticed it because he already knew it was there. 'It's the least I can do. It makes a change to have someone with a little respect. And I most certainly will not send you back out there without making sure you're fit and well enough to go on.' She ducked her head and tucked a stand of hair behind her ear. Frank already knew that meant she was embarrassed, or bashful. 'But, I'm afraid I must know your name.'

'She frowned. 'I already told you, it's-.' She closed her eyes and exhaled in defeat. 'Sprite's only a nickname - although I'm sure you gathered that.' So, she recalled referring to herself as Sprite. Frank was willing to assume the cut off point in her memory was right there. 'My real name is Celeste Sanjati,' she revealed, and almsot grimaced afterwards. 'But nobody calls me Celeste. Everyone calls me Sprite, I've always been Sprite.'

'Darling, _I_ think your birth name is beautiful.' He complimented her softly after a slight pause. Frank honestly did believe it to be perfectly suited to her in every sense of the word. Celestial, ethereal, heavenly. The verbal representation of her silvery locks, her elven features, even her voice reminded him of wind chimes. Her eyes were the colour of a midnight blue sky, sprinkled with stars that, until now, had been tears threatening to spill. To his delight, her eyes seemed to retain a natural glint to them, and she was beginning to grow out of constantly looking like she was about to break down in terror. 'I really don't think I can call you Sprite...' He paused for a moment, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes in thought. 'Mind if I call you Lessie instead?'

Sprite - or rather Lessie, although that wouldn't seem right for a long time - chuckled and said, 'You can call me whatever you want as long as it's not cunt.'

Both of them reacted simultaneously. Sprite had completely forgotten where she was, or indeed, who she was talking to and turned to walk further into his room with both hands over her mouth, shaking her head as she couldn't decide whether she was laughing or crying. Frank didn't know Sprite/Lessie could curse and it shocked him so much he easily could've been knocked down by a feather. He gasped loudly and flinched at if the word physically hurt him. Her laugh was delightfully contagious and it was wonderful to know his plan had definetly worked, but he'd have to do something about that. His divine little mouse was certainly not going to have the vocabulary of a sailor, he would make sure of that.

Struggling to keep a straight face, Frank said, 'There's no shame in it, darling, we've all been there. I just wouldn't let your parents hear you speaking like that, if I were you.'

'Where do you think I learned it?'

Frank was once again stunned, but for an entirely different reason. Foul language was hardly unheard of, but in his society it was borderline religion to be mindful of what one says around children and to hold the utmost respect for one's elders. Respect was actually a very important thing to the people of Transsexual, indeed the whole of Transylvania, contrary to popular rumours. Instantly, he felt a pang if injustice flare in his stomach. How could she be left in the care of such animals? Not only did they evidently use awful language around her, she'd been away from her home for over forty eight hours (if her version of events was anything to go by), and her phone hadn't rung once. Any respectable parent would be beside themselves with worry by now. She also had a serious alcohol problem, and she was only in her late teens. Nobody of such a tender age should even know what addiction is, let alone have succumbed to it.

If he didn't know any better, Frank would have said that she didn't have anyone looking out for her, but he'd seen numerous family member contacts in her phone after he'd taken the liberty of having a little bit of sleuth. They didn't deserve someone as wonderful as her, she deserved far better than them. If he believed n a superior being, he'd expect them to be punished for taking a family in general, not just her, for granted.

 _It's none of your business, Frank,_ he reminded himself coolly. _She'll be yours before the day is out. You won't have to worry about her future for much longer. In time, she'll realise that she needs you more than she's ever needed anyone. She'll learn to trust you, to confide in you, she'll run to you for protection, guidance, affection. You'll be able to take her under your wing, to mould her, to nurture her. None of that will be able to happen if you give yourself away._

'Well!', Frank chirped, trying to break the slightly awkward silence that had since settled between them. 'I've got some work that needs doing, I'm just across the hall for now, call if you need me, but knock first, okay?' Sprite nodded, already imagining one hundred and one things that could be going on behind that door. Human dissection? Animal testing? An adult film shoot? Who knows. 'You can stay up here if you prefer, but keep in mind that my staff will be around. They're nice enough, but whatever you do, do not disrespect the food. I made that mistake once and I almost didn't live to tell the tale.'

Frank winked at her and walked off. Sprite watched him go, amd concluded that his stance was more of a saunter. She wondered if he knew that he constantly wore an I'm-judging-you-harder-that-your-Twitter-mutuals-ever-will expression on his face.

With no other distraction, Sprite was left to think - to panic - about the impending meal. She was not looking forward to this dinner party at-fucking-all.

* * *

A few hours later, after Sprite had plucked up enough courage to leave the bedroom and pleasantly surprised herself with how easily she managed to converse with the girl she assumed was the maid - either that or they had some permanent weird master-servant role play fetish going on, after Columbia had completed the heavy task of replenishing and re-fuelling Eddie's bike whilst blinded by her own tears, after Frank had had another set of rubber gloves and a mint-coloured lab coat soiled beyond replenishment by blood, organ matter and various bodily fluids, the gong crashed to signal dinner.

Frank immediately removed his dirty work clothes (he always made such a loud job of taking off his rubber gloves - the snapping noise was just so satisfying!) and walked down the corridor to collect Lessie. He had a feeling she'd need a certain degree of encouragement, and he was right - she was currently hugging her knees on the bed, willing herself to bite the billet and go - but before he got to his little mouse, he ran into Columbia.

'I checked the bike,' Columbia informed him, her voice thick with emotion. 'Everything's ready to go. Are you taking her back?'

Frank put his hands on his hips, frowning slightly in thought. She could be useful. Very useful, in fact. She was obviously gorgeous and beautiful and he'd certainly have his way with her, but there was another, more obscure use, something not even his housemates knew about. Having her around permanently would create the potential for all the years of theory to finally be put into practice. He drummed his fingers on his hips and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

'No.' He finalised. 'No, I don't think I am.'

* * *

 **It seems we stood and talked like this before  
We looked at each other in the same way then  
But I can't remember where or when**

Where or When - Dion and the Belmonts

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Ew, filler chapter.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	5. Chapter Five

**This one took me so long to write it was ridiculous. Got a bit stuck in a rut but hopefully the worst is over now. Once again, of you like what you see and want more, please don't forget to review/favourite/follow whatever it is you want. I hate the introductory things, I never know how to conclude them.**

* * *

If someone had told five-year-old Sprite that she would make it to eighteen, she would've laughed. If someone had told eleven-year-old Sprite that she would lose her virginity two years later, she would have told them to fuck off. If someone had told drunk Sprite that in a few hours she would fall into the company of a insatiably charming and witty transvestite who was filthy rich and apparently 'quite a lover of beautiful things.' She had complimented his bed chambers, but she somehow (with a coy smile that she both detested and loved that she couldn't hide) she knew Frank was referring to herself, she would've asked for a very large hit of whatever in the hell they were smoking. Consequently, not even a plethora or curse-words or future self-apparitions could describe the disbelief that eighteen-but-I'm-basically-nineteen year old Sprite felt now.

She was led down a discerning staircase on the arm of a stupidly handsome doctor with the ability to charm the pants off a nun (if the gossip was anything to go by) to an even more prestigious looking dinner where the three other guests treated her so wonderfully.

Everything was going one hundred times better than expected, but two things sent her mood crashing down. One being that she had seen too many horror movies to _not_ know where this was going. The charming, charismatic serial killer that lulls their victims into such a deep false sense of security that they don't even notice the knife in their back until they're drawing their last breath. Sprite was grateful for the camaraderie thus far, but she knew better than to let her guard - or her perpetual paranoia - down just yet. Secondly, she crossed the threshold from light-brown floorboards in the foyer to monochrome tiles in the kitchen, smelt the alcohol, and everything completely went to shit.

Frank immediately felt her body tense severely and begin to tremble slightly. Not one of his housemates had noticed, and he was determined to keep it that way. He held on to her tightly and he steered her over to an empty chair - so much so that Sprite half expected to come away with a bloody stump in place of her left hand.

How could he continue to be so stupid? How many times was he going to make forgetful mistakes that could easily lead to her desperate departure? Standing there, paralysed, while she stumbled in to his bedroom, putting her in the only room he couldn't monitor and now this? Carry on in this fashion and his whole plan wouldn't even have the potential to leave the pages of handwritten theory notes.

Sprite tried her hardest to eat, to talk, to do anything other than think about the alcohol. She tried focusing on the smell of the black coffee Frank had placed in front of her with a meaningful glance instead of the red wine, thinking about how unorthodox and probably false the three servant's names were (Riff Raff, Magenta and Columbia - the fuck?), clenching and unclenching her hands beneath the table in an effort to ignore the fact that her body now relied on alcohol in order to function in any way at all.

She'd always been able to brush that thought off before, but under the circumstances of the past few days, it only caused her stomach to painfully drop and her heart to follow suit. Despair, hopelessness, shame, fear, it had all been snowballing for so many years, and it had suddenly hit her all at once.

Frank hadn't taken his eyes off of her since they sat down. His heart ached for her, but he refrained from doing or saying anything, as he had a feeling that drawing attention to her would make her hate him even more than she already did for putting her in this situation. He saw her break out in a cold sweat. She was almost supernatural looking, the way her cheeks flared scarlet but the rest of her face was pale enough to belong in a morgue, how she incessantly tapped her foot underneath the table, and how even the slightest noise - such as chairs moving, cutlery scraping - made her jump so violently it looked painful.

None of the others had said anything, but Frank knew it wasn't out of respect. Even if Riff Raff _had_ noticed anything, he didn't have the balls to speak unless spoken to, Magenta did have a good heart but was tragic at conveying any sort of emotional support, and Columbia didn't have any qualms with seeing anyone suffering as long as it wasn't her.

It wasn't long before she appeared as less sickly and more terminal, and Frank took this as a definite sign to intervene. He stared at Magenta intently for an excruciatingly long time until she finally looked up and caught on. Magenta huffed dramatically, before making a big fuss of clearing everything away and ordering the others to leave.

Frank could almost hear her thoughts: _why do we all have to skip desert just because this stupid little girl is too weak to make it through another fifteen minutes? This is all her own fault, I don't have any sympathy for her. She needs to grow a pair, grin and bear it and get over it like any of us would do._

 _Grow a pair_ just so happened to be a delightful choice phrase she had picked up from (until now) the only _other_ foul-mouthed female under his roof. She was keen to use it as often as possible, and even heard her mutter it under her breath at she added the last plate noisily onto the stack.

Frank merely glared at her rather than say anything, and luckily this time she had the common sense to refrain from taking it any further. She matched his steely gaze and left, hauling Columbia out by the arm and Riff Raff, his sister's ever loyal follower, shuffled after the pair obediently.

After the door slammed shut, it took all of two seconds for his desperate little mouse to dart over to the alcohol cabinet, and even less time for Frank dash forwards and beat her to it.

It wasn't exactly hard to hold her still (it was tragically easy, actually), but she certainly made a very good effort. He did have to admit that she was a lot stronger than she looked, and restraining a pissed off, hormonal teenager on one side and trying not to bash one's head on the cabinet on the other was proving to be quite the challenge.

'This is so unfair!' She whined desperately as she continued (in vain) to wrestle him out of the way. 'Please, you know I'm not in a good place, I only want one! I'm not asking for the whole bottle, I'm not planning on passing out, I'm in so much fucking pain and I just want one!'

'I can't understand a word you're saying when you scream at me like a banshee!' Frank had intended to keep his voice calm so as not to stress her out even more, but seeing her this worked up over something as trivial as alcohol was beginning to make him panic. He'd given her a particularly hard shove to put some distance between them, and they both red in the face and out of breath. 'Now, what on _earth_ do you think you're playing at? Kicking and scratching at me like that, I've never seen anything so gratuitous, and would _never_ have expected such foolish behaviour from you!'

Half of that sentence was a lie. Frank had seen so much more, and would continue to see more unruly behaviour than she would ever know. In fact, Lessie was currently one of, if not the tamest he'd ever had.

Sprite (for she still referred to herself as Sprite, and would continue to do so for a while at least) wasn't sure what set her off. It could've been the intense withdrawal: it had hit her all at one, and although she only had to sit still for a grand total of twenty minutes, she couldn't remember the last time her entire body had cried out of relief so excruciatingly. It could've been the way she'd acted: yes, she was incredibly embarrassed and ashamed of herself, but she didn't have much time to feel guilty about this because her body had completely detached from her mind and acted without consent. That had never happened to her before. Her addiction had make her feel insane, but never, ever had it made her _act_ insane.

Both of these incentives were plausible, but she knew it was neither of the two. The thing that hit her the hardest was the way Frank had reprimanded her. She felt far too much like a puppy that had just been told off, and it made her feel not so much rotten and so much more filthy. She knew it was this feeling that made her start crying.

She was sad, ashamed, angry, irritated, granted she was all of these things. Yet weirdly, she was happy. She was happy in a reminiscent sort of way, as it made her think of her mother. Most children hated being scolded, but Sprite cherished them and relished in it for as long as she could for she knew that her mother only scolded her when she was sober enough to care.

Frank cared. He might have been terrifying, unsettling as shit, and now warring between comforting her or scrutinising her even further, but he cared. They didn't even know the other existed three days ago, yet Frank had shown more tender attentiveness towards her in that short space of time than anyone ever had in Sprite's whole life.

'Come on now, little mouse, there's no need to cry...' Frank spoke with a gentle voice, tentatively reaching out for her as he wanted to comfort her but didn't really know how. She stepped backwards sharply, not because she was scared or made to feel uncomfortable by him, but because she continued to turn on her heel and half-run out of the room with a beeline towards the main doors.

'I can't thank you enough for your hospitality, I appreciate it, I really do,' she said as she took her tattered denim jacket (which she had completely forgotten even existed, let alone that she was wearing it last night) from the coat stand and donned it hastily. 'But I need to leave. I'm not sure where I'll go. I might not even go anywhere and chicken out of leaving like I have done so many other times - I mean, I don't even know why I'm telling you this, the most appropriate thing to do would be to thank you for your hospitality and chivalry and leave it at that but apparently I can't do anything without causing a scene as much as I can't do anything without crying but I-.'

''Lessie, look at you, you don't even know what you're saying.' Frank continued to speak carefully, mindful not to frighten her even further. He stepped right up to her in the most non-threatening way possible and, seeing that she didn't object or even flinch, gently rested his hands on her shoulders. 'No one said anything about you leaving,' he reminded her softly. 'We're not in any rush to throw you out, in fact, we'd quite enjoy some new company. It gets awfully lonely after a while.'

Sprite blinked, unsure of whether to trust him or not. She still had yet to respond and Frank sighed. 'At least tell me what's making you so anxious.' He squeezed her shoulders gently and offered a small smile. 'I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you while you were under my care. I can't let you go without knowing you're completely safe. I might be able to help you, I _want_ to help you.'

She looked at him doubtfully. 'Okay,' she sighed. 'Okay, fine but - j-just promise you won't...' she sighed again, clutching her hair as she always did when she was frustrated. 'I'm not proud of anything I've done to get me up to this point, let's just say that.'

'Imagine if I were to judge you. Me, of all people!'

Sprite did manage to splutter a laugh at this, but her legs still trembled as, guided by a gentle, firm hand in the small of her back that she still expected to shove her over the railing, she climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor.

She'd only seen this area once before, nothing more than a fleeting glance on her way down for the meal, but taking it all in properly only reminded her just how much of a peasant she really was. Her inner child really wanted to explore, but she was ushered into what she realised, with a huge fist of emotion to the stomach, was a library.

Sprite genuinely could've sobbed with relief. Literature had always played a huge part in her life, and for the most part, her sanity. She never did feel particularly safe throughout her childhood, so having a hundred different, and frankly _better_ , worlds to hide in was what kept her going. It was a place for her to escape in her head, and she formed deeper relationships with fictional characters than she ever had with real people. More often than not, book characters seemed to understand her the way she understood herself. As she grew older, she learned to conceal this as she felt others would tease or belittle her for it, but to this day, books could calm her down like nothing else.

Which is exactly what happened right as they walked in. It was just what the doctor ordered (pun intended) and she hadn't even realise just how much she needed it until now. Just the smell of the room was enough to make her feel completely safe: the familiar, indescribable old-book smell, the earthy scent of the polished hardwood floor mixed with the smoky odour from the hearty fire that she might have regarded as a safety hazard if she hadn't been otherwise engaged, threatened to knock her out in one huge bowling ball of familiar, comforting security.

Frank, too, noticed this immediate change in her demeanour, and had never been more thankful that he'd trusted his intuition. The library was wonderfully peaceful and aesthetically pleasing to look at, but he never expected this. She relaxed under his grip and stopped seeming as though she was discreetly trying to dig her heels in so she wouldn't have to move.

He didn't let her go until she sat down. He took a seat opposite her. The most important thing, Frank had learned in the short time he'd had to analyse her and the situation itself, was to constantly fill the silences and any other gaps in inspiration or conversation to prevent her from loosing her nerve. He couldn't allow her to start thinking, because she'd only psyche herself out. That would either lead her to clamming up entirely, improvising a less difficult story on the spot or making up excuses as to avoid addressing the subject. Which, at that moment, happened to be her apparent mountain of undisclosed issues.

'This is a safe space for you, don't worry.' He reminded her as gently as he could. He had asked her to start from the very beginning - 'A very good place to start, in my opinion' - and received complete rabbit-in-the-headlights silence. The frustration settling like a piece of lead in the pit of his stomach was threatening to betray him, and more importantly, put a stop to his plan before it had even started. 'Everything you tell me now is in complete confidence. You've nothing to be scared of and you've certainly nothing to be ashamed of. I can't let you go without knowing you're completely safe. Tell me what's making you so unhappy.'

'It would be easier to ask me what _is_ making me happy.' She chuckled humourlessly at the floor, which she spent most of her time instantly studying. 'You and I would be rid of each other a lot quicker.'

Frank stayed respectfully silent. After a few more irritating moments, she sighed lightly and, at long last, began to speak. She told him how she never had much of a childhood. How most children grew up making friends, learning to tie their shoes and training themselves to be unafraid of their own shadows. Sprite thought her own childhood was normal until she heard her friends discussing this when they were just in the double digit age range, and for the first time she realised she might have missed out on some things. She never spoke of any of this at the time - she made up some white pickett fence bullshit that was vaguely similar to the frightfully boring (yet achingly safe) recounts from her friends.

One of her earliest childhood memories was watching in some kind of petrified awe as a strange, opaque smoke curled under her door in wispy tendrils. She had suspected it was perhaps the arrival or dissaperation of a mythical woodland creature or a spaceship. Or perhaps it was something far more sister, like a storybook witch that was practising her spells and enchantments right outside her door, and Sprite had to stay quite otherwise she would be found and probably dismembered, or at least have a few hairs pulled from her head. She'd been burrowed right under her thin, worn covers. She should've felt safe as all her friends later admitted they used to, but there was a rather large hole in the material, a window that she could still see the smoke through, and she had accepted her twisted fate to helplessly let the dark magic's after-effects to engulf her and be suffocated by the stench of awfully stereotypical lizards skulls and dog tails.

It certainly _smelt_ like rotting animals. It easily could be been the steam from a witches potion too, as it made her feel awfully strange and as though she was watching it all happen to someone else. She woke up the next morning completely unscathed and put it down to a bad dream, but the smell lingered. That was one smell she'd never forget, and one she'd be rudely re-introduced to at a party decades later. It had been hilariously funny at the time, finally making that connection, but after she'd sobered up and was trying to sleep, she cried bitter tears of resentment. She was three years old when she experienced something that was called getting 'contact high'.

She did some more explaining. How she pretty much never had anyone to look after her she had to grow up far too fast and learn to take care of herself. How her mother was a single parent, but 'single' never really applied - there were always men around, but she never saw the same one twice. Her perception of men had been moulded very early in Sprite's life. Halfway through primary school, she confidently had the male species summed up: each and every one were disgusting, scary, violent and they all treated women as nothing more than cashpoints and flesh-lights. Bullying was standard for almost all children, but Sprite never learned to cope with it because she received the same treatment at home.

She had become desensitiseed to it, but whenever it got too bad she did the only thing she new how to do. Indeed, the only thing she knew would make the loud, imposing, violent ones go away: apologise over and over again. not many of the them (the bullies or the men) were sympathetic to tears - it was probably even more terrifying if they were - and if that didn't work, run. Run as fast and as far away as she could. She'd spent many nights in church doorways and bus terminals in all weathers because anywhere was safer than home or school, as she later found out.

All that running did pay off, as she was selected for cross-country at one point. It was one of, if not the only 'good' thing she'd accomplished - but she contracted athsma and other chest complication due to the substances, dust-mites and asbestos floating around in the air, and was dropped not long after.

All of these stories seemed quite pointless in Sprite's eyes - and even more cringeworthy to Sprite's ears - but Frank was sat forwards wit his elbows on his knees, listening with an interest that was almsot endearing. He interrupted her halfway through her explain it how they came into so much money, and his sudden deep voice made her jump.

'You don't seem too scared of me.' Frank pointed out, grinning broadly at her when she looked up. 'Or are you a compelling actress as well as a storyteller?'

She snorted a laugh. 'First of all, I was absolutely paralytic when I first met you, and...I guess it was initially because...you don't - you're not terribly conventional for a man.'

A cocked eyebrow set an uncertain flare in Sprite's cheeks. Her chest tightened as she suddenly had a premonition of him loosing it and throwing her out on account of her insolence.

'Because I look like a girl, is that it?'

'No!' She defended herself haughtily, but couldn't help giggling just a little bit. 'Anyway,' she continued, readjusting her hair and making herself more comfortable. 'I'm sick of the sound of my own voice, so in a nutshell: the rest of my childhood involved drugs, alcohol, dogs that were not nice dogs and men who were not nice men. I have zero memories between nine and ten, I suppose it was just a blur of instability and unhappiness for me. The universe decided it was our turn and we got a shit load of money, and for about six weeks I could actually say I was happy. Isn't that fucked up? Nineteen years on this planet and six weeks have made me happy.'

'Eighteen.' He corrected her softly. She glared at him.

'I got rich. To everyone else, I had it all. I was living proof that fairytales do come true, but it was the worst point in my life. Rumours started that my mother earned the money through sex - apparently there's a video on the internet but I've never quite been brave enough to look - if my mother was distant before, she was non-existent after that. I made so many stupid mistakes and got myself addicted to alcohol and on the verge of either a mental breakdown or...you know, I don't even know what else wouldn't happened. Money opened the doors for the toughest period of my life and I'm still waiting for it to end.'

Silence followed. It was awkward for Sprite as she had never told anyone that much about herself before, and was half-expecting a non-diegetic theme tune to some dramatic soap opera to start playing. Frank, on the other hand, used the silence to allow his brain to run wild. Luckily for him, his poker face was second to none. She obviously had nowhere better to go, that was one obstacle out of the way. She needed attention. She put on an amusing little show of defiant independence, but his little mouse craved it: a gentle touch, a few words of encouragement, even a smile (without malevolence or salaciousness) was likely to be a rarity for her. She needed guidance, protection, and to be made to feel as though she was loved. That was very promising. Tragically easy and very, very promising.

Another conclusion, derived from somewhere that couldn't be more unrelated to his brain, was that he was intensely and almsot painfully aroused. Watching her bear her soul to him like that, knowing she was foolish enough to trust him and let him see her at her most vulnerable was positively exhilarating. She didn't have anyone else. It was entirely possible that she wasn't _wanted_ by anyone else. No one even knew she was here. Soldering on through years of just 'coping' all the time had made her weak. Body, mind and soul. She was weak, tired and lonely. Lonely people would do anything for anyone who they thought might need them. Whether it was genuine or not.

He moved to sit down beside her after receiving her permission and kept a firm grip on her hands as he spoke again.

'I want you to answer this question as honestly as you can,' he said after kissing her hand - something which had become a bit of a ritual for them. 'After that, you're free to go. I promise.'

Sprite was more than a little shaken up. She knew he was going to ask her something serious. She just wasn't sure if she was ready to hear it. His next worlds took her so completely by surprise that she flinched.

'Do you _want_ to go home?'

An invisible sledgehammer thwacked her in the stomach. She felt her ears burning and her threat ran dry. At first, she was incredulous as to why she was fighting back tears, but soon it became painfully obvious.

No one had ever asked about her happiness before. Aforementioned in thier previous conversation, most, if not all people assumed she had not a care in the world. She finally heard _that_ question, the one she'd secretly been yearning for somebody to ask, even if she didn't (in fact, only just) realise it herself.

No. Of course the answer was no, it always had been and always will be no. She hated talking about her grievances with a passion. She always sounded, even to herself, like an ungrateful, spoiled brat who was fantasising and romanticising mental illness and hard times because it was currently a trend. That, and the fact that (until now) she didn't realise she even had a choice in the matter, both stunned and embarrassed her into complete silence.

He'd been looking her dead in the eyes the whole time, and as she phased back into the moment, she realised she'd been unashamedly staring back. She thought it might have been suggestive for a second, but then she remembered she was bright red and probably gawping like a fish, so that thought was quickly forgotten.

She sighed, looked down and shook her head guilty.

He wasn't surprised. He didn't even react.

'Do you have anywhere else to go?'

His gentle, patient words unknowingly forced her to admit that no, she didn't. She didn't have anyone anymore. She shook her head wordlessly again, face burning and chest hurting more than ever.

Frank chose this opportune moment to gently tilt her head up, hoping that her embarrassment would prevent her from noticing how unnaturally hot his hand felt.

'Why don't you stay with me?' Nether of them had spoken in more than a whisper since her story finished. 'I can keep you safe.'

She shook her head for the third time, without even realising she was doing it. 'I don't know what that feels like,' she admitted softly. 'I don't think I've ever felt safe.'

He tilted his head slightly and frowned in sympathy. She'd never seen someone who exuded opia as intensely as Frank did. This bizarre emotion only grew as he removed his fingers from under her chin, and she thought he was going to stroke her hair behind her ear. Instead, he lowered his hand to brush lightly over the skin of her neck.

'I'm sure _someone_ might miss you...'

She jumped at his touch, not because of how startling the scorching heat was, but because he was now lightly stroking the lovebites from mistake number I-can't-remember-because-lost-count-years-ago that she'd completely forgotten to conceal.

She grabbed the shoulder of her shirt and yanked it up to cover them. 'That's not-!'

He pulled her hand away after reassuring her that he only wanted to look, and for some strange reason that didn't seem at all creepy or uncalled for to Sprite, so she let him push the hem down so it bunched up on her forearm and continue to study her.

'Did it hurt?' He asked her almost casually after a sharp nail on a particularly nasty one made her wince. 'When he did this to you?'

'She.' Sprite deadpanned, somehow both thrashing around in complete hysterics and going so far past the point of caring that she could've easily fallen asleep. 'No, not really. It's mostly numb there now.'

She barely noticed how close he'd gotten, but all of a sudden he was almost nuzzling into the crook of her neck and his hair was tickling her nose, threatening to make her sneeze.

'Has anyone ever been this gentle with you?' She gave an awkward one-armed shrug. He tutted in sympathy - she didn't miss the hint of patronisation, either. 'Such a shame,' he hovered right by her ear, so close she could feel his teeth grazing the skin there. 'You're such a lovely, sweet little girl. I certainly wouldn't want to hurt you.' She barely - just barely - felt his tongue flick against her earlobe.

She kind of knew this would happen. Sprite was independent enough, if she didn't want it she would've left when he'd given her the chance. This cycle was almost a chore for her now. Mess up somehow, get drunk, have sex, thank any and all Gods she could think of that she didn't get hurt, wake up sober the next morning and have a little cry about it and in a week, or sometimes even a day, start the whole thing over again.

This instance might be just a little different however. Usually she fucked for the sake of fucking. Someone to share a sweaty hour with, there was no connection, hell, not even an attraction there most times. Even if this was only meant to be a one night stand, at least she finally found someone charming, handsome and who had that rare respect for her.

'I wasn't lying when I said I haven't felt safe.' With zero consent from her brain, she heard herself say, 'although I kind of do now.'

Her words either struck a chord with him or made her immediate embarrassment too obvious to ignore, for he lifted his head and smiled at her.

'Well, isn't that nice?' He winked as he carefully re-adjusted her shirt. 'Right then, little mouse. I think it's time we call it a night, don't you?'

Sprite was stunned into slice for about the thousandth time. She was fully expecting (as in, she was literally clenching) to be whisked upstairs or pinned to the sofa, hell, even getting dragged outside for a shag in the rose-bushes would've made more sense that what had just happened. She blinked at him stupidly. He cocked a smug, perfectly stencilled eyebrow, smirking and scrutinising her with magnetic eyes that somehow held both the darkness of temptation and the sparkle of amusement simultaneously.

They both knew exactly what misjudgement she'd made, and Sprite was left to do nothing exact shift humiliatedly under his intense gaze. He stood up slowly and this snapped her out of her daze. She agreed hastily and leapt to her feet obiedently, letting him guide her once again with a firm hand in the small of her back. They went to a different room (there was still a tiny flicker of hope that he might lead Sprite to his room - that flicker spluttered, coughed and died rather unceremoniously). She thanked him profusely while he grinned down at her and ruffled her hair, before she was left to get herself ready for, with a certain degree of disappointment, nothing more than a good night's sleep.

Just as she was drifting off, Sprite realised she never actually responded to his proposal.

* * *

 **I've read quite a few of the books that you seeHigh on the shelves of this tall libraryThey teach me how to thinkBut now I think too much, much too muchSomething's not right, there's a hole in my lifeSo I wander the clubsLooking for some soul, looking for some lifeAll I find is you but you make me laughAnd that's a start**

Ask The DJ - Mr. Hudson

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Will I ever learn how to condense?**

 **No.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	6. Chapter Six

**I am not proud of how long it takes me to update this thing. It seems I had a bit of a brain fart but we are back, ladles and jellyspoons. Before we get into that, I'd like to thank,**

 **Calia: apparently Frite is now a thing, which absolutely tickled me pink. That made my day. Thank you.**

 **Hazel Ashwood: I know EXACTLY which fanfiction you're talking about - it's actually my favourite on this site! To be considered in the same league as that is so amazing. Thank you so much for the compliment, it's a real confidence boost. I honestly thought I would wee myself when I read that.**

 **Buckle up guys, this one is INTENSE.**

* * *

Making the decision to stay was not easy. In fact, the prospect of it had kept Sprite up all night. The next morning, Frank took one look at her and launched into full doctor mode and went about fuss-fuss-fussing over whatever illness she'd contracted, until (once she could finally get a word in edgeways) she convinced him it was trouble sleeping and nothing more.

She slept during the day instead - the constant hum of activity proved comforting and soothing, and her overactive mind had exhausted her so much and she welcomed sleep so eagerly that she didn't move at all during her sleep. Yet another reason for Frank to assume she'd caught some ungodly disease and expired right there in her bed.

When she eventually did wake up, it was pitch black. The curtains had been pulled shut, a few extra pillows had been propped under her head and the only light came from a cluster of candles standing in the corner of the room.

Turning the bedside lamp on nearly spilled an entire glass of water that had been left for her along with a bowl of what was probably soup. It was stone cold now and was starting to congeal on account of how long it had been sat there, which made it look more like stale vomit. Or brains. She wouldn't be surprised if it were a mixture of all three, actually.

She changed into some clean clothes (another necessity that had been left for her - she must remember to thank them for being so attentive and kind to her). She was pleasantly surprised to find a standard black tank top and shorts in a neat little pile at the foot of her bed rather than a bedazzled burlesque costume - although she didn't have any qualms about wearing either outfit, honestly - brushed the Frankenstein-esque out of her hair and left her room.

She needn't have worried about waking anyone up; she had since embraced her pet name and took pride in how she wasn't called that on a daily basis for no reason. She didn't really have anything to do at two in the morning, but everyone else's night was her new day, she had to make it work somehow.

She seized the opportunity to go upstairs rather than down. The third floor was the anomaly of the house: sandwiched between two decadent, ostentatious floors, the Third Floor was simply a narrow corridor featuring Frank's laboratory and Frank's bedroom. One out of bounds and one invitation-only. Hardly took Einstein to decipher between the two.

The only reason she knew the room was a laboratory was because, even before she was close to teetering on the edge of making a decision, it had been drummed into her that one much never ever _ever_ go in there without permission. Of course that only made her curiosity worse. Little did they know if they'd kept quiet she wouldn't have even had the idea of going in there. At least, not for the first few days before the groans started.

It had always been a particularly noisy household: the constant clack-clack-clack of heels on hard floor, Magenta's quick footsteps and sometimes tuneful whistling as she cooked and cleaned, Columbia's record player forever playing her turn-that-racket-down-now-or-I'll-throw-the-bloody-thing-out-the-window version of bubblegum pop.

So when Sprite first heard the machines clanking and whirring from the ceiling, albeit she was a certainly unnerved, but wasn't surprised. Not until she could have sworn she heard someone groaning up there. It stopped her in her tracks and unsettled her so much she lost her appetite for the day. The house was dead silent when she heard it again, so there was no mistaking it this time.

It was definitely a masculine voice, and it sounded like someone up there was in a great deal of pain or having a nightmare of sorts. And, just to add to the tension and make sure Sprite lost sleep again, the unmistakable sound of Frank's shoes on the floorboards manifested a few moments after the groans started. If she stayed completely still and strained her ears hard enough, she could just make out the door opening and closing, followed by incoherent cooing - thought it sounded more like the person was being mocked and humiliated rather than comforted. But that was probably because she could barely hear any of it.

Now, a week after she arrived in her gloriously unceremonious way, and was beginning to receive indirect pressure to make a decision, a wonderfully coincidental turn of events had allowed her to scope out this potential crime scene for herself while completely undetected. If she saw something horrific and decided that she didn't want to risk her life, she could cheerfully thank them for all their service and put it down to an (albeit sudden) change of heart.

She rested her head against the wood of the laboratory door, willing herself to go in. This was also the only door in the whole house without a small window, another huge clue that she might actually get murdered for being in there.

Her palms were disgustingly sweating so much she actually had to use two hands to push the damn handle down. She _eeeaaaasssseeeeddddd_ the door open and crept inside, nearly falling over from the ice cold shock of linoleum on her bare feet. She daren't turn on the lights. A complete fucking inbred would've turned on the lights. She was left to walk around with her hands outstretched in front of her, so far feeling nothing but thin air.

She could _just_ make out a cuboid shape laid horizontally on the floor in front of her, and gingerly pushed against it with her foot.

The groan sounded again, ripping through the air in more of a wail of ear splitting agony than the muffled, sleepy groans she was used to hearing. She leapt a foot backwards but somehow managed to stay quiet, clumsily turning on her heel to bolt out of there and never, ever come back.

Her inhibitions had been right all along. They really were insane, criminally insane as if standard insanity wasn't bad enough. Keeping someone locked in here like an animal, clearly putting him in unimaginable pain and almost guaranteeing his death sentence. This was all without seeing a single thing, and now, she was certain she didn't want to see. Not now, not ever.

The worst part of this discovery was the realisation that she had been stupid, naive and desperate enough to let them fool her into thinking they cared about her.

Not twenty-four hours ago, she'd asked, 'Why are you doing this? I haven't done anything to deserve your kindness and hospitality, I literally could be anyone with any amount of evil intentions - I'm not,' she added hastily when the rest of the dinner table regarded her with a mixture of worry and amusement. 'I've never know anyone who doesn't give to receive, that's all.'

'Why ever wouldn't we want to help you, darling?' Frank had been the only one to respond after the others left it to him when they started clearing everything away and wandering off. 'I promise you there's nothing in it for us - although, if you'd like, we could say we couldn't bear to lose someone as stunningly beautiful as you if it helps your ego.' He laughed at his own joke and continued, 'No, but really, we aren't doing this for any reason other than to be nice and caring for you.'

He flashed her a smile, she went weak at the knees and that was that. No questions asked, not even a hint of insincerity. When all this time, they'd been sadistically torturing this wretched soul and she'd been wandering around with her head in the clouds the whole time. Blissfully and disgracefully ignorant.

Just before she reached where she thought the door was, another familiar sound set the floor swaying under her feet.

Heeled shoes. Platform shoes. Silver sparkly ones that, ironically, scored the first instance where she thought she would die at the hands of the same man.

Frank was coming down the hall and into the lab. She would be caught red-handed and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

In a frenzied fit of panic, she threw herself into the corner most obstructed from view by the door (the left, as it turned out) curled herself into a ball and said a collective prayer to every religious figure she could think of as the door opened and the lights turned on.

They sprang to life with an aggressive crank and a deafening whir, flooding the room in such a light that made Frank's lab abnormally bright in comparison to the rest of the castle. Pink walls, gleaming white floor, _more_ naked marble boys (with speakers embedded into them this time) and far too many foreboding pieces of unfamiliar equipment. A fuck-off hole had been created (driven?) through the tiles in the far corner, and the thing she'd inspected earlier turned out to be a sizeable red tank. The dented, scratched lid had been secured with a pretty pink ribbon (much stronger than the type she was used to if whoever was in there was too weak to get out) tied in a feminine bow. It has been made to look like a birthday present, giving way to her suspicions of sickeningly childish incentives for all this madness.

A wide, pillar-box red bookshelf (containing suspicious looking jars rather than books - don't think about that, Sprite, you'll be sick) stood mere centimetres from her, which she scrambled behind immediately.

As far as she knew, he couldn't see her, but she could see him. A better arrangement there never was.

Frank didn't actually unite the ribbon, he had to cut the damn thing off with a knife. The lid was thrown to the floor with an awfully loud crash - and it was this scare that finally made her start crying. Not loudly, she had enough sense against that. Just the silent tears of God-help-me-I'm-actually-going-to-witness-something-straight-out-of-a-horror-movie-except-worse-because-it's-real-life terror.

The person inside immediately began to thrash around. Shoes scraped on the hard tank floor and chains rattled.

 _Chains? He's chained down in there?!_

' _What_ did I tell you about keeping the noise down?' Frank hissed through gritted teeth, leaning so far into the tank (subsequently right up in the man's face) that his entire head disappeared from view. 'I have been _nothing_ but good to you! Given you food, water, a roof over you head, I even bartered your disgusting needles for you, and _this_ is the thanks I get? You try my patience and throw all my effort back in my face! I hope you know I'm making this a lot less painful than it could be. Than it _should_ be, after your behaviour.'

 _Can I just wake up now?_ Sprite thought numbly, an exhausted haze permeating her senses. _Please let this all be a horrible dream._

Once Frank stood up, the light could flood into the tank, and turn the red walls slightly transparent. Sprite now had the perfect view of the silhouette of this man - left alone while Frank calmly selected something that looked like a pizza cutter but was probably much, much worse.

The silhouette began to shake. He made a feeble attempt at breaking free of his chains but it was futile. Sprite couldn't help thinking, even in the current situation, that this was a very _large_ man. He appeared rather wide and unshapely - although would anyone look page three ready if they'd been in the lair of a mad scientist for however long? Fully clothed, shoes on, leather jacket creaking, this man knew he was about to die (or, even worse, wish he _had_ died).

Sprite was literally about to witness an innocent person get dismembered. Frank, charming, entertaining, beautiful Frank was about to literally butcher another human being right in front of her eyes and she would have no choice but to sit there and watch.

She found herself fervently praying for him. Religion and science don't usually mix, but what can you do.

Until the hostage's head snapped toward her sharply and his eyes locked with hers. A split second, that's all it was. A split second too long, it seemed, as Frank's merry whistling - really? _Whistling?!_ \- stopped abruptly and he looked as well.

 _It was so weird,_ she scribbled down on a piece of scrap paper hours later before she could forget. ' _I had this sort of numbing acceptance that I was going to die. I wasn't angry or scared or regretful. I wasn't anything. I was just existing, as my mind and my body somehow simultaneously caught on that I wouldn't be for long._

Frank crossed the room excruciatingly slowly. One foot perfectly in front of the other, each step echoed around the room like gunshots. Or nails in her coffin, either worked.

He resembled nothing more than a cat stalking a... well, a mouse.

She stayed at low as she could without laying on the floor and curled herself up into a tight ball. Frank stopped directly in front of where she was hiding. She'd already been caught, he was teasing her now. Building up the anticipation until it was ostentatious, so when it finally peaked, she would wish he killed her on the spot and he'd wish it would never end.

The silence lasted a fair amount of time, and Sprite dared to believe she might have gotten away with it. Until he shoved the entire unit to the side with one hand as easily as pulling curtains.

 _He's strong?,_ her mind squeaked feebly, h _ow could he be that strong? I didn't know he was that strong. If he could push a marble bookcase with one hand imagine what he could do to me!_

'My goodness me,' Frank murmered, sinking down to her level. 'How long have you been down here, little mouse? Enjoying the show?' He smiled and stroked a stand of hair behind her ear.

'I can explain,' was the only pathetic thing she could blurt out.

Oh, I'm _sure_ you can...' Frank tutted at her quivering form disapprovingly before hauling her to her feet by both hands. 'Come alone, then, this way.' He was taking this remarkably well, gently leading her away with a calm, if condescending, tone of voice. She instinctively leaned towards the tank for one last look. 'Ignore that,' Frank ordered in the same dangerously calm tone.

She said nothing as she was led away for what would either transpire as her murder or the worst punishment she'd ever revived in her life. He even kissed the top of her head as he turned the lights off and closed the door, mutilation forgotten.

* * *

Sprite didn't even react when she was shoved hard against the wall of Frank's bedroom - even the hot, sticky sensation of blood trickling from a fresh gash in her head didn't make her cry out. She knew it would happen, and honestly she couldn't even deny she deserved it.

She jolted as Frank's hand snaked around her neck. A curling caress, of all things. The fingers teasing at the nape of her neck could easily tighten, chocking the life out of her and probably snapping the bones clean in two after the way he'd handled that bookcase.

'Celeste, baby,' Frank said in a mock-serious tone. The only thing the real world had in common with this den of iniquity was the use of her real name meant deep trouble. Deep trouble indeed.

He placed his mouth against her ear and whispered heatedly, 'Now, if anyone else was ballsy enough to deliberately disobey me, to be sneaky and sly, to skulk around in the dead of night _behind my back_ ,' she whimpered had he pressed himself even tighter against her, painfully forcing her body against the wall and worsening the wound on her head, 'they would most certainly be replacing the poor sap I've got begging for his life right now.' He sighed, pulling back and smiling at her. 'But you, artful and obstinate as you may be, happen to be my favourite. So, my lamb, my beauty, my darling, I'm prepared to give you a choice.'

It sent an awful thrill down her spine. She swallowed hard. She didn't tear her eyes away from her perpetrator's dark, intense ones, but her racing heart and churning stomach proved that she really, really wanted to.

'You stay here, with me,' Frank began in a perfect reasonable voice that shows no sign of whatever raging malice was coursing through his veins, 'let Frankie look after you, keep you out of harm's way and give you whatever you need...and we can forget that this whole thing ever happened. Tell not a soul of what you saw, put it all from your mind and we carry on as normal. Nobody else need know. One tiny secret in exchange for your life back.'

Still, she said nothing. Her mind frenzied desperately, but a veil of disassociation hindered her ability to process it.

'Or...', his voice turned back into that villainous croon used on the suffering individual that would forever be synonymous with imminent agony for her now. 'You can leave. I will escort you out myself, you'll be free to...', he shrugged, searching for an idea. 'Go back to school, travel the world, do anything your pretty little head desires.' He flicked her temple, grinning wickedly. 'However, I will personally make sure you get your comeuppance, my girl. Just because you can't see me doesn't mean I'm not there. I guarantee, on my mother's grave, I will _make you suffer_. As for the longevity of your punishment...unfortunately for you, that's up to me.'

Perfect. Just wonderful, what on earth had she done to deserve this? As it currently stood, she could agree to play dumb for an unforeseen amount of time in order to preserve her life, forfeiting any kind of future she had so earnestly yearned for all this time. Sacrificing her ambitions and her sanity. Having something like that on her conscience, that would kill her as surely as if Frank had butchered her after all. Or, she could go back out into the world with a chance to expose them and do the right thing, but honestly, who would believe her? She could achieve everything she wanted, but with the mentality of an inmate on death row. Always on edge, paranoia to the extreme. Just waiting to have her legs broken or smothered in her sleep.

Both choices were calculated to be painfully contradictory. Childlike hopefulness or crushing acceptance. Stay quiet or become institutionalised. Be killed or kill herself.

Either way she chose, she couldn't win. Whichever path she chose now, it would sentence her to death.

'A question on sport?' Frank snapped, who's face was hard but whose eyes were glittering in cruel amusement.

She didn't give him a verbal answer. She finally acknowledged everything that had just transpired and broke down crying instead. She clung to the madman in front of her and buried her face in his chest in a completely selfish act that lacked any and all sense of bravery, morality, and integrity.

A tiny voice in her head cheerfully suggested to just _play along for now and pull out the aces when the time is right!_ What aces, she didn't have any aces. A full house demolished by a royal flush.

'Shh, it's alright...it's all gone now, you're fine. Calm down now, everything's going to be alright.'

He manoeuvred them both (with Sprite clinging on with both arms and legs, refusing to let go) to sit on the end of the bed and held her more protectively, shifting her to sit more comfortably in his lap.

In the spirit of a brain-freeze getting worse before it got better, a full blown panic attack overtook her before she eventually quietened down into soft whimpers and little snuffling noises. Partly induced by the warning tone of the final 'Hush now...' before she relaxed against him with a shuddering sigh.

'There...', he cooed, pressing his lips against her forehead. 'Better?'

She whispered, 'I feel sick.'

'It's the shock, darling, you'll get over it. Need anything else?' She shook her head. 'Would you like me to stay?' She shook her head again, much more vigorously this time.

 _Oh, goodness no,_ she thought numbly, _could you imagine that? It would finish me._

'Mmm, well, if you're sure you're okay...' He was doubtful. Very doubtful.

'I'm fine, honestly.' She mustered some kind of heavenly strength to speak normally and stand up all at once. 'I just want to be on my own.'

'Of course you do, darling.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Although, if only you'd been a good little girl and done as you were told, you wouldn't have anything to be upset about, now would you?'

She shook her head no with a quiet little smile and went back to her room, trembling all the way.

* * *

Three days. Three days passed and she couldn't remember a goddamn thing. It was like she sat down on her bed, blinked, and was on her knees staring at a very familiar pair of shoes.

Initially, she feared the obvious had occurred. Perhaps the stimulation had woken her from her shutdown? But she slowly realised she was, in fact, back in the lab. Bruises were beginning to form on her knees and she had just finished crying about something. No tears or hitched breath. It was the unmistakeable, utterly exclusive sensation of feeling empty and full at the same time.

'Affecting you that much, is it?'

She jumped. Why did she jump? She knew he was there. He ran a hand through her hair and pouted sympathetically. 'Oh, you poor thing. Well, I might have something...'

He went rummaging through all the ominously unlabelled cupboards and jars, occasionally hissing in frustration. She slowly got to her feet, having absolutely no idea how she got there, how long she'd been there, or what on earth she'd said.

The tank had since been nailed shut.

'Ah, you're in luck, Lessie, I think I've found just the thing.' He tossed a small bottle of pills - nothing different from the Paracetamol or Ibuprofen she'd take at home - into the air and caught in one handed. Tapped two into her shaking palm and couldn't resist patting her on the head as he did so.

Suddenly, it all clicked.

Her entire being couldn't cope with everything she'd been subjected to. Her mind checked out and her body somehow, miraculously, kept going. Whatever had transpired during her trama induced hiatus had led her to throw herself at Frank's feet and beg him to help her forget.

'How will I know if it's worked?' She asked skeptically.

'Because you won't remember, silly!'

'But how am I supposed to know it's worked if I don't remember it's supposed to have worked?'

He shook his head. 'Because,' he exhaled in annoyance, 'you'll go right back to normal. We'll have our favourite little mouse back, of course. Even Columbia's worried about you now and she doesn't like anyone.' Jokes aside, he crossed his arms and stepped right up to her. 'So do you want it or not?'

She studied the tabs. Half green, half black like the chocolate bar. Realistically it could be anything, or it could be nothing. Placebos and all that. She might die if she ingested these. Honesty though, would that be such a terrible thing?

Reading her mind, Frank said, 'It's that or nothing, Lessie. You're just going to have to trust me.'

Oh. _Ooooohhhh_ she didn't like that one bit. She mentally crossed herself and dry-swallowed both simultaneously. She grimaced as they went down. Dry and salty, like cardboard.

'Good girl. Wasn't hard was it?' He tousled her hair as he always did and sent her on her way with a light thwack to her backside as she was going.

Sprite had been blessed, but she wasn't safe. No, far from it. _She_ wouldn't remember, but...God, the universe, fate, whatever one might call it certainly would. She was forever campaigning against class or status excusing someone from facing the consequences of committing a crime. That was before she dreamed of getting herself into that situation. Now, like most instances, she rather wished she'd just kept her mouth shut.

* * *

 **My little China girl  
You shouldn't mess with me  
I'll ruin everything you are**

China Girl - David Bowie

* * *

 **I'm rather out of breath. Actually feel a bit sick now.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	7. Chapter Seven

**Less than a week between updates! What is this sorcery?**

 **This one is definitely more of a filler chapter, to both integrate some light-hearted, silly humour into the usual sadistic goings-on (because, by George, we need some after the last chapter) and to completely cover up the fact that I have absolutely no idea where this story is going haha FUCK.**

 **To my faves: Hazel Ashwood - I'm not a vocal person either, but I might be if Frank takes a nosey over to my dreams one night. You never know. And, to LandyShadow - sorry I made you jump.**

 **A bit of How's Your Father coming up in this chapter. Sex, for all you uncultured Americans. So, if you don't particularly like reading about, or are offended sex (it's my first time attempting to write a full on lime I never claimed to be any good at it ahhhh) or are grossed out by, or have a phobia of vomit, I'd suggest skipping the first few passages.**

 **Other than that, enjoy it peeps.**

* * *

Two thousand one hundred and ninety hours. Ninety one days. Thirteen weeks. Three months. The length of time, to the day, since that definitely-character-forming-potentially-character-destroying event occurred. And in that time, Sprite had:

Been Seduced by The Master of The House. Many, Many Times.

The door handle jiggled, startling Sprite so much she nearly fell out of bed due to its impossible loudness. An impatient knock followed soon after. She got out of bed to answer it, but was soon stopped in her tracks.

'Lessie?' Franks stern voice filtered into the room. It didn't even stir a reaction in her, she just closed her eyes and sat down on the foot of her bed in careless defeat. 'Darling, what have I told you about locking this door?'

That was a deeply unsettling pet hate of Frank's. He couldn't stand when people locked doors (exclusively bedroom doors, for obvious reasons she forbid herself from thinking about), and repeatedly tried to enforce that he should have full control. The hypothetical authority included which door, the duration of time before the door could be _un_ locked, and whether or not anyone was inside at the time of the locking.

Sprite didn't know about anyone else, but she paid no heed to that.

She had purposefully locked it after everything that went down in the lab - why was it so hard to have a mental breakdown in peace? - but Frank, apparently, had other plans.

Sprite had no choice but to command her legs (shaky as they may be) to carry her to the door and noisily unbolt the latch.

Before she could even blink, the swinging door nearly took her out, she was hoisted to the man's waist in one swift movement (paying testament to the inhuman display of strength she'd had the displeasure of witnessing first-hand) and thrown backwards on to the bed with a breathless grunt.

She wasn't a bit scared. She knew it would happen, she'd almost been wanting it to happen. She knew it was an awful, insulting thing to say, but she honestly would have preferred to be initially punished with this. At least she'd know what to do.

Still, she still couldn't help but squeak, 'What are you _doing?',_ as experience told her to bat her large eyes, elongate her legs and chew her lips pink, but instinct told her to look self-conscious, appalled and terrified.

Licking his lips, he purred, 'We have to test it _somehow_...' as he slowly crawled on top of her.

Frank hadn't told her how long it took for the pills to take effect, nor the total longevity of those effects. He evidently planned to fuck her senseless all night, for if she didn't remember that in the morning, there's no way she'd remember a tiny, insignificant experiment.

He pinned her wrists to the mattress, trapped her between his legs and asked her if it was her first time. Complete lie, but she nodded yes anyway. A totally on-the-spot, improvised endeavour to make her seem more believable was to worriedly ask him if it would hurt.

Smiling, he shook his head. He crossed-his-heart-and-hoped-to-die he'd be gentle and buried his face in her throat. A fine line, Sprite thought as she stared at the ceiling and distractedly scratched his dark curls, between luxuriating under sensual kisses and having her jugular ripped out by those perfect teeth.

Her clothes were ripped off as easily as tissue paper - _these are new! I've only worn them for a few hours, they were clean on today!_ \- and couldn't help moaning over the sensation of his burning mouth and scratching fingers all over her sensitive skin. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of pleasuring her, but it seemed it couldn't be helped.

Tugging on his hair to bring him up for a sensual kiss made him chuckle (a low, filthy sound) into her mouth, and having both breasts kneaded by those soft hands made her whimper into his.

He chased her tongue right into the back of her mouth, rubbing is and sucking on it until she was pitching and writhing beneath him. Both parties couldn't help giggling in between their lustful administrations, but the reasons couldn't have been more perfect to define each character: Sprite was heavily entertained by the sensation of their noses brushing together and loved how it tickled so much, and Frank relished over the amount of power he had over her and how easily she could be manipulated into doing exactly what he wanted.

The kiss was broken, much to the disappointment of the girl (inhibitions be damned - she deserved a good time after all the shit she'd been through lately) and was unnerved into staying completely still by Frank's expression as he stared down at her: incredibly amused and deeply satisfied.

'Are you nervous?'

She shook her head.

'More?'

She nodded - her eagerness surprising and disgusting even herself.

He drew his face close to hers again, taking his teeth along her earlobe and inserting his tongue inside. Grinding against her at the same time set the shimmery corset rubbing against her exposed flesh like sandpaper. She arched her back and whimpered, trying her best to reach behind him and pull feebly at the ties.

'Oh, you want me to take this off?' He traced his lips along her jawline and chuckled into the crook of neck.

She nodded again, the intensity apparently preventing her from using her voice.

He bit her shoulder, sucking out a monster bruise before responding. 'Mmm. It'll take quite a while, are you sure?' Her arousal was become unbearably now - tears of want were beginning to sparkle in her eyes. Upon seeing this, Frank feigned sympathetic innocence and said, 'Oh, you're ready to go, aren't you?'

He could see the physical repercussions of her all-encompassing need for him, even in the limited light. He hooked his finger under the waistband of her damp underwear - the single scrap of clothing covering her decency - and watched as, after snapping it against her thigh, her expression twisted in pure determination to not cry out again. Perhaps the naive little thing was embarrassed.

He pouted, cooing, 'Well, who could resist that little face?', and began undressing. Making a show of it of course, not taking her eyes off her as she didn't still at all, feeling particularly intense effects of her arousal.

Taking each other in their arms again rolled a wave of an altogether different kind of pleasure with the feeling on their bare torsos rubbing against each other. This was no longer teenage fooling-around, this was proper, grown-up activities.

Frank began kissing her body again, alternating between biting and blowing cold air over her favourite areas. At the time, she was too consumed with pleasure to wonder how he knew that.

He took the waistband of her underwear between his teeth, teasing her by gently tugging on it and tickling her legs as he did so.

She raised her hips to encourage him and whimpered until he stopped playing and threw the garment somewhere out of sight - with a sly smile, he asked her to kindly close her eyes as he removed his, as if he even knew the definition of the word self-conscious.

Frank made her wait even longer by sitting on his heels and studying her, drinking in every last detail of her body with no barriers to instruct his view. Her smooth, creamy flesh was positively delectable - not a blemish or imperfection in sight. Shiny, silver hair framing her pale, heart-shaped face beautiful. Perfectly identical ringlets, gently curling to a stop just above her shoulders.

Despite having done this a thousand times before, Sprite never quite got used to being completely defenceless and vulnerable in front of another person. The instinctual thing to do was to cover herself, but Frank wordlessly shook his head before she'd even reached for the covers. Reading her mind, as always.

His obviously appreciative inspection of her body made Sprite even more painfully aroused than she already was, and her lustful haze distracted her from seeing what Frank was actually doing until it was too late.

Firmly caressing all the way down from the base of her throat, Frank's long and clever fingers were suddenly, startlingly, in between her legs. In an instant, he had her, and all she could do was buck and shriek and hang on to him for dear life. He was merciless in the meantime, playing her like a harp, exploring and playing in all the agonisingly right places.

And just just _just_ as she was about to go over (for what she assumed would be the first of many that night) he left her. She couldn't suppress a strangled whimper of frustration and nearly kneed him in the face when he put his mouth on her instead.

That would've gone over like a sack of bricks.

He tantalised her with his lips and tongue, making her belong to him, emptying her mind of all thoughts except that of him. His lips and his eyes and cock.

She made more noise that she ever had before, not caring one bit of the other housemates heard her (actually, she would have preferred that they did and slyly hoped that they'd be jealous) and lost her senses for a beat or two somewhere in there, so delirious with pleasure, was she.

The door opened.

Sprite shrieked and even Frank jumped, shifting around to address whoever had so rudely interrupted.

Magenta drew back sharply when she realised what was happening. From her rightful place on the other side of the door she said, 'Oh, I'm truly sorry, please pardon my intrusion. I'll...come back later.'

Her brisk, purposeful footsteps quickly faded away into silence. Sprite allowed a few more beats to pass before she peeked through her fingers. She saw Frank getting up to leave and tore apart the tranquility with what could only be described as a wail.

She seized Frank's hand in both of hers as hard as the desperation seized her. He was adjusting his hair in the mirror (subsequently looking at his reflection, so diverting his attention at all was a miracle in itself), and apparently possessed much shame as he did modesty. He was planning to walk out completely starkers, parading what (Sprite found herself thinking this was the strangest concoction of mortification and pride) she had done to him to everyone else in the house.

'You can't leave me like this.' She spoke through gritted teeth. 'Don't you _dare_ leave me like this.' An agonising surge of complete need coursed through her unexpectedly, causing her to throw her head back, arch her back and gasp for breath before she was able to continue. She whispered, 'Please don't go.'

It was torture for her now. Exhausted, writhing, panting. Inhaling the reek of want and feeling the pangs of humiliation. She was a complete, desperate mess, dripping with sweat and tears at the thought of having to ride this entirely unheard of (and certainly unwelcome) bodily reaction to the acts she could probably perform in her sleep.

Why was it - why was _he_ \- having an effect of this magnitude on her? She didn't know, she was too far gone to properly question it. The only concrete thought she could process was how much she wanted it to stop.

'There, there...shh...' The caring, gentle tone he usually adopted with her was replaced with stomach-churning patronisation. He leaned in close again, tenderly stroking her warm, damp hair. His smile was more of a sneer as he humoured her by skimming his fingertips lightly over her tongue. 'Everything will be okay, my little mouse...don't fret, my sweet...'

She only just managed to ask, 'Are you going to stay?'

He leaned in and bit her earlobe. 'What's it worth? Hmm?' He caressed her bare torso, just barely brushing so that it tickled slightly as he condescend her again. 'You won't remember this in the morning, anyway, why should I reward you when your behaviour has been so appalling?'

'I'll do anything.' She heard herself begging for sex like a common whore. She would've broken down in sobs of utter despair and self-hatred had she been in control of anything. 'I won't forget. I'll do whatever I need to make that happen. I'll keep your secret, I'll do whatever you may want.' In a tiny, defeated whisper, she pleaded, 'Just please don't abandon me in this state.'

'Well...' He pretended to think deeply about the offer. Toying with her even more when he already had her in the palm of his hand. 'I think that's just too good of a deal to pass up.'

A man of his word, Sprite couldn't deny that. Frank gave her everything she wanted and more. He answered to every burning desire her body ached for, and even some she didn't even realise she wanted, all with a unique kind of white-hot passion she'd never even dreamed of before. Overwhelming her with ecstasy, taking her to the very brink of what she believed, and just when she thought she reached her peak of peaks, he took her to new heights. Over and over again, all night long.

She came fourteen times.

Vomited Eleven Times

In the early hours of the morning after the night before, Sprite was yanked from her bed and hauled to the en suite, where a sharp kick to the back of the legs brought her down _hard_ to her knees. She clunked her chin painfully on the rim of the bowl as the toilet seat went up. Dizzy and disorientated from being woken up too fast, with no idea where she was or what the fuck was going on, she barely had time to register Frank holding her hair back with one hand and sticking his fingers down her throat with the other.

She was sure nobody _enjoyed_ being sick (although she knew quite a few people with fetishises for it), but Sprite really detested it. Her biggest fear in the whole entire world was to vomit. If someone was ill, and was vomitting, she refused to be near that person and would only go back once she knew for certain (as in, they swore an oath) that they were feeling better. If she ever did vomit, she cried, she freaked out, she just couldn't handle it.

Which is exactly what happened after she heaved up three whopping great jugfulls into the toilet at seven in the morning.

Frank wiped the excess from her chin with a towel and did it again.

She tried to lean away this time but she wasn't fast enough. Frank put the whole traumatic, unattractive, degrading ordeal twice in a row for his own psychopathic enjoyment. He rubbed her back as she spat the last of it out, giving her a few hearty slaps.

'That's it, get it all up...a'da girl...', he blotted the feverish, cold sweat from her forehead as she shuddered and gasped helplessly, saying in the cheeriest tone Sprite had ever heard, 'We wouldn't want any pesky additives interfering with our promises, now, would we?'

It all clicked for her then. It all made sense with an incredible swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach that threatened to make her vomit even more violently than she already had done.

Last night, in a fit of passion, she'd declared that she would do anything to prove her desire for Frank, and fatally promised to revoke her decision to artificially remove the memory if it meant Frank would stay there and pleasure her. Never mind that she had been so consumed and utterly delirious with lust that she barely remembered her own name, Frank took every word she said literally out of pure spite. He was now challenging Sprite to keep that promise by forcing her to get rid of the pills in the only way she could: by forcing herself to vomit until she brought the medication back up.

She was more prepared the third time around. As hard as she could, Sprite jerked her head away and tried to scramble backwards, screaming, ' _Stop it!_ ', as she did so. She screamed, half out of intensely distressed frustration and half out of searing pain in her scalp - Frank used both hands on her hair to stop her getting away, and it felt like he pulled half the lot out in the process.

'Now, darling,' he warned with a reproachful, you're-old-enough-to-know-better look. 'There's no sense in making this more difficult than it has to be.'

'You're an animal,' she spat, feeling like she was going to faint. 'You're a sick, twisted individual who needs serious help.' Come to think of it, he _was_ the help. How terrifying.

'Lessie, baby, you can pretend to hate me all you want, but you and I both know you wouldn't last one day without me now. Not after you know what I can give. But,' he sighed dramatically, 'if you really don't like it here, you know where the door is.' He smirked as a flash of hope entered her sallow, tired eyes. 'Of course, unlike you, I intend to keep my promises.' Her heart sank. Even after all that, he was still fully prepared (and probably wouldn't have minded one bit) to hunt her down and torture her to death. 'Unless, of course,' he mused, half to himself and half to her, 'you don't beat me to it. Where will I find you, lamb, swinging from the banister or holding a pistol in your mouth?'

'You said you would keep me safe,' she murmured with zero emotion in her voice. Dull, lifeless, hopeless. Just like her future. She'd gotten herself into quite a few pickles before, but this one had to take the cake.

'And _you_ , filthy little whore,' Frank almost snarled as he moved right up to her and yanked her chin up to face him, 'said you would do whatever I may want for the taste of my cock in your mouth.' She whimpered dolefully. 'Now, get back over here and finish what you started before I do something I _will_ regret.'

She covered her face and took a great, heaving breath. 'I want to do it on my own,' she said shakily.

He laughed. He actually laughed. It wasn't even an evil one either, it was a you-do-make-me-laugh-Lessie type of laugh. 'I see where this is going...' He said in a sing-song voice. 'Hang on, wait, don't tell me. Let me guess...the second I step over the threshold, you lock this door, might even go as far as to barricade it for some extra points, and you don't come out until you feel you might have to, otherwise you'll starve to death. Correct?' She didn't say anything. 'Thought so. Here. Now.'

 _Oh God, what is this? What am I even doing? What did I do to deserve this? Why am I putting up with this?_

So many unanswered questioned to accompany the one she had when, on account of refusing to have fingers stuck down her throat again, Frank tickled the back of her throat with a quill's feather instead, and made herself sick over and over again until nothing but yellow, sour-tasting bile came up.

'That should do it,' Frank said quietly after what felt like an eternity of absolute misery. Sprite had since been drained of all energy, her throat burned and her body ached all over. She'd long stopped trying to keep it out of her hair, and was currently slumped over the bowl in a defeated, boneless heap, allowing her hair to dangle in it uncaringly. Frank patted her back once - what he deemed as a perfectly acceptable way to comfort this wretched girl. 'Flush it away and clean yourself up then. I've got some things for you to do today, and I won't have my house reeking like an infirmary.'

Frank only felt the tiniest pang of guilt as he left his rebellious little mouse, curled up and shuddering, on the floor of the bathroom, because the waste had soiled her gorgeous hair. How unfortunate.

He hummed a merry tune as he walked down the corridor (as he often did when no one else was around to hear him - imagine if anyone saw him with a sunny disposition, he had a reputation to uphold!), and smirked again as he saw the bottle of pills that had cause so much trouble lately.

Printed on the label, clear as day on the side of the container. _Leave an interval of at least thirty minutes before administrating the second capsule._

Poor, innocent, stupid little thing. Taking two at a time wouldn't have done anything.

Sustained Three Major Injuries.

Uncharacteristically, the dislocation of Sprite's right shoulder was completely unintentional, but it wasn't too hard to crack it back into place as she leaned in for one of countless dry heaves.

The second accident occurred a few weeks later when Sprite attempted to carry a full tea tray downstairs, even after Frank specifically forbade her from doing so. He knew how clumsy she could be, and his concern was only proved when she caught her foot on a lip in the carpet and took a rather grand tumble down the entire staircase. Frank was sympathetically annoyed with her when he found her sprawled on the floor in a pool of shattered tea cups, scalding hot Earl Grey and her own blood.

The final one occurred when she was wandering around with her nose in a book and walked headlong into a brass saucepan that was suspended above her head.

Formed An Unorthodox Friendship With Magenta.

Their companionship came about after Sprite begged and pleaded to be taught how to bake in the spectacular fashion that Magenta possessed a natural talent for. The maid eventually gave in (although she never dreamed of telling anyone she had begun to find the unusual girl intriguing and endearing for a while now), and guided her through the process of making a pavlova.

'Oh, boring,' Sprite had grumbled at first, until Magenta whispered that it was Frank's favourite. She didn't have much of a choice other than to enjoy it now. Sprite was disinclined to acknowledge how easily she could be manipulated by him - even when he wasn't around.

She taught her how to separate the egg whites ('Look, watch me first...empty the yoke between the two halves of the shell like that, you see?' Go on, you try it then. Over the bowl, you idiot!'), and delighted in teasing Sprite by holding the bowl upside-down over Sprite's head to prove how stiff the peaks were. Sprite succeeded in making the icing - she was immensely pleased with herself - and put it all into a piping back with a star shaped nozzle securely fastened on the end.

'Squeeze it gently,' Magenta instructed, holding the bag with her at first, 'and go out, and down. Out, and down.' They created a few perfect star shapes together until she let Sprite so it herself.

She was stupidly nervous over a cake, but Magenta took such pride in her domesticity that the girl would probably get murdered if she cocked up the piping now.

She had unconsciously been chanting 'Out, and down,' to herself as she was doing it, and Magenta had tears of laughter glimmering in her eyes by the time she was finished.

Magenta said she was a quick learner, praised her eagerness develop new skills and ruffled her hair - did Frank pick that up from Magenta or did Magenta pick that up from Frank? - before sending her on her way, suggesting that Sprite left the cooking to her from now on.

Formed An Intense Frenemy Relationship With Columbia.

Not, as most would assume, because of Sprite's unique, turbulent connection with Frank. They fell out initially after Sprite (who was so easily bored and always looking for something to entertain herself with) asked Columbia if she could teach her how to tap dance. She kept saying no, but Sprite wouldn't give up whining, and eventually she gave in.

She was handed a pair of Columbia's old, worn shoes (apparently dancers keep all of their old shoes - who knew?) and not five minutes in to learning the basic steps, Sprite lost her footing and twisted her ankle painfully.

Frank was trying to work at the time, which was probably why he overreacted, but he grilled Columbia to within an inch of her life even with Sprite calling from the background that it was her own fault for being uncoordinated.

They didn't speak to each other for the rest of the day.

Had Riff Raff Utter One Word Towards Her.

'Are you sleeping alright, Riff Raff?

'Yes.'

Aquired A Few New Nicknames.

Columbia had taken to calling her 'Tink' after the melodramic fairy companion from the iconic children's tale, and also liked to call her 'Bambi' after her large eyes and nervous disposition. The only interest the girls had in common was their unwavering obsession for all things related to Walt Disney.

Magenta was the only one who actively refered to her as Sprite, (and she loved hearing her say it in her funny accent) but also opted for 'Sylvie', after the distinctive colour of her hair.

It was a wild card with Frank. On some days they were nice ones, such as darling, baby, lamb, the old faithful Little Mouse and the ever-present Lessie. On other days they weren't as nice. Bitch, slut, whore, vermin. All that jazz. A new lucky dip every day.

With The Help of Columbia, Convinced The Others to Celebrate Christmas With Them.

Decorations were scarce and gifts were lacking, but they desperately tried explained the story and the sentimental value to everyone else, who thought it was funny to sit there smirking and condescending them for taking part in such childish endeavours. They won in the end, as - exchanging a triumphant smirk with one another - they knew they would.

As unorthodox as it was, it was actually such good fun - even though they had to make do with nothing but mistletoe and improvised Christmas crackers.

They explained the game, and could've played it for hours. They didn't realise it was supposed to _actually_ crack, and poor Frank nearly went into cardiac arrest right there at the table. It brought out the aggressively competitive streak in all of them, and it was the most surreal thing Sprite had ever experienced.

They stopped playing after a used condom fell out.

Dabbled In The Art of Performing In An Orgy A Few Times.

It was certainly something, but Sprite preferred it when all the attention was on her.

Been Allocated A Job Role Within The Household.

Columbia was in charge of collecting groceries and other necessities, as well as scouting - whatever that was - Magenta cooked and cleaned for everyone, and Riff Raff assisted Frank in the lab. There was a time when Sprite would have liked to have done that herself, but she couldn't think of anything worse now.

Frank told her that if she wanted to stay in the household, she had to start pulling her weight. A few days later, he came rushing up to her and seized her by the shoulders in a frenzy of excitement. He really did look like a shark when he smiled crazily like that.

He dragged her to the library and instructed her to start reading from the various science textbooks crammed in the shelves. Almost like revision for a school exam, she was expected to study the information and document relevant extracts for Frank to store over time.

'...Right,' she began uncertainly, 'so I'm supposed to write down absolutely everything you might need, just incase you do?'

'Yes!' He replied as though it was the stupidest question in the world.

'Even if you never use it for anything?'

He echoed her statement in confirmation. 'It'll turn you into such a brain-box, regardless of what it's used for. You want to learn, don't you?'

'Yes, but-.'

'Perfect.' He pecked her lips softly. 'Thank you, darling.'

Told The Biggest Lie of Her Life.

Frank walked in to her room one day, smirking, holding his hands behind his back. One of his bad days. Already, she could tell.

'Recognise this?', he mocked, dangling a very familiar piece of technology in front of her.

' _My phone?!_ ', she shrieked, leaping from the bed after a period of dumbfounded silence. 'You've kept it from me this whole time?! I thought I lost it on the day I collapsed! Do you even know how many people are worried sick right now?'

'Settle down, Crawford, I doubt that very much.' She narrowed her eyes at him. 'Check it if you don't believe me.' She reached for it, but he snagged it away. 'Come on then, if you want it just take it.' She tried again and the same thing happened. 'Stop fooling around, it's right here!'

She wasn't finding it at all funny, and eventually dived at him. The next few minutes were filled with the two of the running around like children, with Frank holding it just out of her reach and expertly avoiding her scratches, taunting and teasing her with audacity to giggle the whole time.

She eventually wrenched it out of his grip, exclaiming, 'Fucking _give it to me!_ ', immediately darting well out of the way while Frank chided, 'Don't snatch!'

He let her have it anyway. Sprite, who had learnt a lot in the past few weeks, appreciated it without complaint.

Frank was honestly very confused when Sprite paled and stumbled a few steps backwards.

'Over two hundred missed calls...?' She stated weakly.

'That's impossible,' Frank said. 'I mean it Lessie, it hadn't sounded once.'

She snapped, 'Because it was on flight mode, you _dick_. Preserves the battery.' She mumbled after the severe stare Frank gave her.

As multitalented as Frank was, modern technology was not his forte. 'What are you doing?', he asked her as she manipulated it confidently.

'I'm making sure people know where I-.'

'I don't think you are!', Frank admonished her. She looked up, fear in her eyes. 'What you're going to do, is use that to tell everyone that you're okay. Tell them you're safe and happy. Well looked after,' he tickled her under her chin antagonistically. 'You can make it as soppy and melodramatic as you want, but I'll be checking it before it goes off.' As a warning, he added, 'Be as vague as you can.'

She swallowed hard, feeling herself beginning to shake. 'Why do I have to be vau-.

'Because I said so,' he interrupted authoritatively.

'That's not right!'

'Neither's animal testing,' his response was bored and dry. 'My heart is bleeding for you, it really is, but you made these choices. Now honour them.'

She did it. Sprite hated herself more with every word she typed, but she did it anyway, as she really did leave herself no other choice.

It was either: do exactly as Frank told her from now on, or leave (like any dignified person with an ounce of self-respect would have done) and straight up fucking die.

What a time to be alive.

Accepted That She Was Hopelessly Devoted to Frank With All His Malevolent Charm, Subsequently Forgiving Him For All The Indignities He Had Subjected Her To In Exchange For His Praise And Approval.

A few short days preluded the three month anniversary when she caught Frank coming out of the library and carelessly threw herself at him.

He caught her, grunting a little in amused surprise.

'Goodness me, that's a lovely welcome! What's all this?' Frank carried her back into the library and carefully sat down with her on the sofa. 'Something the matter?'

She shook her head against his chest. 'It's just been really hard,' she admitted tearfully.

'Hush, darling, I know. You've been through the mill recently, but I promise you it'll all start to get better now.' He held her at arms length and smiled kindly at her. 'I know it's been tough on you, lamb, but you know I only do these things because I _care_ about you so much. Do you understand me, flower?'

He was very gentle with her now, so similar to how he was before that it made Sprite want to cry. 'No, of course I understand. I just wish I could handle it easier.'

Sprite was unconsciously beginning to blame herself already. Pinning her numerous breakdowns on her being too weak and ignorant rather than being victimised by a criminally insane, scientifically genius cross-dresser.

What an interesting sentence. It was almost hysterical to think it was actually true.

'You must give it time, darling, we'll soon toughen you up.' He chuckled and gently tapped her on the nose. 'We got off to a rocky start but that's all in the past now. Truce?'

'Truce.'

They clasped hands and Frank planted a big, wet, resounding kiss on Sprite's forehead.

They engaged in a rather strenuous session of make-up sex that night (in Frank's own bedroom - what an honour!) and Sprite woke up in Frank's strong arms the next morning, engulfed in a false, trained, conditioned sense of happiness.

* * *

 **With a bit of a mind flip**

 **You're into the time slip**

 **And nothing can ever be the same**

The Time Warp - The Rocky Horror Picture Show

* * *

 **Phew!**

 **Wow-wee, that was long.**

 **I shower you, my King, in gifts of gold, Frank-N-Cense and myrrh.**

 **I hope you all have the best Christmas ever, that you cherish valuable time with your beloved family and friends and that Santa brings you everything you asked for, because you all deserve it for giving me so much confidence and leaving the purest, most kind-hearted, encouraging reviews ever.**

 **Here's to a merry Christmas, and a prosperous new year.**

 **Kisses,**

 **Alma Oakley.**


	8. Chapter Eight

**What better way to celebrate New Year's Day (I'm a few hours late, dammit) than with an update from everyone's favourite rocky horror enthusiast.**

 **As usual, my loves have expressed their wonderfully positive opinions again, but we have two NEWBIES, unconventional conventionalists!**

 **Guest: the very first reviewer of 2018 and the first to (finally!) acknowledge chapter one is anonymous! Thank you very much for your encouragement, and I hope you find this chapter as ABSOLUTELY ICONIC (xxx) as the first one.**

 **Mr. Knightman - whoof I am out of breath reading that one. I'm willing to blame my exceptional literary skills on the seeming absence of negativity. ~ sarcasm ~**

 **Enjoy this one, and happy new year.**

* * *

Waking up with her cheek pressed against the freezing cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Again.

Sprite had lost count of how many times she'd come to in this state. Not because it had happened too many times for her to keep track (although that was probably true), but because a dark void swallowed up any hope of recalling what had actually happened.

She couldn't sit up for a while - every time she moved she thought she was going to be sick - but when she eventually gritted her teeth, fought through the crushing nausea and made it, everything slowly began to make sense. Three empty glass bottles had been set down haphazardly beside her. One sported violent spidery cracks in the neck and a fuck-off hole - jagged, sharp, do not touch that, Sprite - had been smashed into the body.

All three were brand new and only purchased this morning. She wasn't supposed to know where they kept the alcohol, but she was a headstrong little thing who never did as she was told with a knack for finding good hiding places. As if she was going to let them condescend and baby her into being kept in the dark.

They drank the stuff like apple juice anyway (Columbia and Riff not so much, but Magenta constantly gave off a faint, though not unpleasant, odour of red wine, amd Sprite had witnessed Frank get through two whole bottles of single malt in one night. It seemed as though Frank's libido and Frank's alcohol tolerance were viciously fighting for first place).

Sprite had unintentionally realised Columbia and Riff has been partaking in...other forms of escapism, shall we say. Deduced by the mountain of needle guards accidentally discovered in the bin and the constant stream of spaced-out giggling coming from the girl's room. She had a feeling she wasn't supposed to tell anyone about that. So she didn't.

Loosing her energy again and having to lower her head back on to the floor again, she justified her actions with one simple rhetorical question: _if they can drink and take drugs as heavily as they want, why can't I?_

She already knew the answer. The parental part of her, hiding somewhere beneath all of that damaging circumstantial happenings and narcotic abuse that hogged most of the space in her brain, was firmly, yet kindly, reminding her: _They're doing this for your own good, you know. If you carry on the way you are, you'll drink yourself into an early grave - even earlier than you yourself expected and the school bullies cruelly predicted. They're only trying to help you, better your position, as it were. Accept and be grateful for the help you're finally (and ever so graciously) being offered after years of silently praying for it. They're only doing these things because they care about you, don't you see that?_

Her alter-ego with an intense mothering instinct had just torn any chance of being listened to into absolute shreds. The last phrase was an exact regurgitation of what Frank had cooed to her just as she was beginning to worry she might not be able to hold on much longer - the very same day, in fact, she considered giving up and just letting go.

 _That's exactly what_ _ **he**_ _said_ , she responded to herself like a bedlam patient. _I'm not falling for bullshit like that ever again._

 _Except you are_ , she contradicted herself coolly, _you fell under his spell instantly and you're still in it now. You would have walked away from this madhouse if this wasn't the case._

Talking to herself was admittedly therapeutic, but she forced herself to come up with a different way to deal with the effect this current stage of her life was having on her.

Therefore, in the weeks leading up to the crushing acceptance, she had devised a system, which she kept to as if it were a religion, to help her remember everything. Scribbling down any event of some significance on whatever pieces of scrap paper she could find at the time. Organised under specific headlines (regrettably in non-chronological order as some recollections popped into her head just as she was falling asleep) lest she allow the events to become muddled and hazed in one amalgamation of negative emotions, or, even worse, allow her mind to deal with the trauma by deluding her into thinking it was an LSD-filed bad dream. If she ever did come out of this alive or sane, perhaps she could even publish her revolutionary memoirs, exposing all of them and unearthing multiple scandals in the process.

Every time things started to get a bit muddled, or she felt herself slipping away again, she fished out these haphazardly piled scraps of crinkled, teared paper, and read through them fervently. Just to remind herself that this was all real. There was a time before this, and there will be a time after this. She just had to stay afloat in the present - she'd surely die if she were to sink.

She never wrote down anything to do with her alcohol problem. She told herself it was because she was ashamed of it, but it was truly because she blacked out to such an extent that she couldn't recollect enough to write down properly anyway.

She did, however, remember how to cover her tracks after doing it so many times. She could probably be resurrected from the grave if someone hadn't done it properly. Go into the bathroom when she began to feel a bit sick so she could hide it, finish whatever she'd acquired while she was still in there, and if anyone found her in a state, she could blame it on feeling unwell - as long as she remembered to hide the bottles at the time and dispose of them at a later date. Discreetly, of course.

* * *

Little did she know, Frank knew all about this method, too.

He'd known since the beginning. Each and every time the insolent girl displayed a sweet smile and wholeheartedly promised she was gradually coming off of it - 'It's definetly a challenge, but with the right disciplinary action and motivational willpower I'm getting there, Frankie, I really am!' - he had to fight harder than the last time to resist putting her lights out for audaciously, blatantly lying to his face. Not a hint of shame, that girl, no shame at all.

The first time he gained proof that she was lying was not one week after the little slip that they'd had. Frank was rather confused as to how she'd gone from being desperate for one drink to completely fine in such a short space of time, but then he figured it was probably because she was going through so many other 'difficult' and 'stressful' things (the spoiled brat didn't know the meaning of the words) that her addiction had taken a back seat. Things had finally settled down, and it sprang from the shadows with a vengeance.

At the time, Frank was sprawled out across his King-size in a boneless heap, absentmindedly flipping through an excruciatingly non-realistic porn magazine. He almsot felt insulted looking at those pictures. As if anyone but him (especially a snivelling _Earthling_ ) has assets like that. He'd seen enough to know that was a great, fat lie, a commercial scam to trick gullible people into assuming what they'd recieve was going to be fulfilling.

He was considering whether he could be bothered to get dressed up in some silly costume that best emulated what those weirdos wear on a daily basis, and find one or more people to bring back for a bit of fun (the first time he'd tried it, he been too emotionally distressed to even pay attention to the people walking by: he'd been too busy trying not to cry tears of frustration over how restricted he'd felt. Long-sleeved, button-down shirts? Full length trousers fashioned from denim? Flat shoes? _What?_ Not a scrap of latex, or even stockings in sight. Conservative, drab, generic and utterly _booorrriinnngggg_ ), but movement on the television monitor caught his eye.

His little mouse was just waking up from a good long nap - looking all that more adorable with unruly hair and flushed cheeks. She yawned, stretched, woke herself up a little bit. She got up and left purposefully: his monitor was the only one that had simultaneous access to every room - all two-hundred - in the house.

Bored daydream instantly forgotten, he got comfortable and took great joy and excitement from watching her live - unbeknownst to his beloved, angelic subject, of course.

She nearly slipped on the stairs - _how does one trip over fresh air?_ \- and made a beeline for a cabinet.

Oh my. Oh dear. The cabinet in question was supposed to be tucked away in the girl's mind as nothing more than a convenient storage unit for broken or aesthetically displeasing crockery. Except, she knelt down in front of it and yanked it open with considerable effort - _that unit is supposed to be locked_ , Frank growled internally. _I give that miserable hunchback one job and he can't even do that!_ \- withdrew two small, unidentifiable bottles and left.

Frank experienced a lot of feelings as he watched her drink herself into immobility. He was rather sad for her, as it must be hard to only withstand such a small volume before feeling the effects; he was longing to go to her also, as she'd be even easier to manipulate now that her rational mind was in tatters - but mostly he was furious. Absolutely furious.

Hadn't she learnt a damned thing from the last time she'd dared to evade him? Not even Frank's last-attempt intimidation tactics (he acknowledged this tried and trusted method with a mixture of deep shame and bitter pride) had made a dent within her. It seemed she'd rather risk her life than live a safe, fulfilling, protected life if it meant giving up alcohol. And, more importantly, how the devil had she known it was in there? She must've been silently skulking around again, pitifully desperate for a fix, at it were.

Frank hadn't interrogated that truth out of her, nor did he threaten her with violence or maliciousness of any sort.

No, this time he decided to cook up her punishment for a while. In other words - uncharacteristically - to wait.

* * *

Drinking three bottles in just a few hours was pathetically desperate enough, but to take the pink champagne _and_ the pink gin? That was, as Frank had heard Columbia say once or twice, the straw that broke the camel's back.

He relished watching her drink herself into a quaking, quivering form on the hard floor, excitedly anticipating finally catching her red-handed. It was seeing her accidentally smash a bottle, slicing a deep cut into her hand and not even acknowledging her injury that prompted him to go to her.

He hated having to execute his plans on her egocentric terms, but he couldn't possibly have his dear, sweet little girl tarnished before she could be of use to him, now, could he?

She'd never know the extent of his generosity and leniency with her up until now. Unfortunately, subsequent to her own selfish actions, she'd never get to find out. Had that transpired, chances are she probably would've whined and pleaded for a second chance, turned on the tears for dramatic effect, and remained obstinately unappreciative of his kindness. Again.

Sprite heard the angrily purposeful footsteps long before she registered them. Had she been sober enough to react, she would've sat up immediately (nausea be damned) and scrambled from directly in front of the door before it practically flew off it's hinges. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and the door slammed (unintentionally, for the record. Frank would feel a little bad about that for a short time afterwards) into her head with such force she blacked out for a split second.

Ignoring her agonised scream, Frank seized her upper arm, gleaming carmine talons digging in painfully, and hauled her roughly to her feet, growling, ' _Get in here_ ,' while all but flinging her into her room.

He closed the door and locked them inside (master key swinging in a metronomical fashion, concealed safely within the inside pocket of his lab coat), covered his face and sighed deeply. Feigning a sense of deep frustration and betrayal as if he hadn't stood by and allowed her to drink herself into a stupor four times a week, and enjoyed watching it happen.

He knelt in front his exceedingly bothersome little mouse, who sat holding her head in her hands and crying, as usual, and put his hands on her knees.

'How long?' He demanded coldly. 'How long has this been going on? How long ago did you decide you had enough nerve to slyly defy me _again?_ ' Obviously, he already knew the answer. This was just a test to see whether she really was shameless enough to keep lying to him.

'It hurts,' she cried, completely disregarding both her predicament and Frank's impatience with her. Both of which would normally have terrified her, but her throbbing head was the only thing occupying her at the moment. 'It really hurts!'

'I'm not surprised, you silly girl, and I dare say it's what you deserve for drinking your weight in that God-awful stuff,' Frank snapped, having no time for her at all. 'Now, tell me how long you've been binging,' Sprite winced at the word, never quite having the balls to admit the severity of her problem before, 'and I'll think about getting you some ice.'

Sprite tried to answer him. She really did, but her head pounded and swam awfully, her vision slowly fading to black and eventually fading back in with a wave of nausea even worse than the last. She heard as if she was trapped underwater or in the middle of a really big yawn, and she feared if she spoke, she'd only be able to slur, and she most certainly did not want to give Frank even more reasons to humiliate her.

'Excuse me, alchie, are you even listening to me?' Sprite tried to tell Frank that she hated him, but Frank would tell her, if asked, that noting except her continuous, hysterical sobs came out. 'Shall I find you something to distract you from the pain? Is that what you want, my poor, precious lamb?'

Sprite already knew to anticipate the very worst when Frank took that simpering mother hen tone with her, but she was even more suspicious on account of the phrase, _distract you from the pain_ as opposed to, _take the pain away_. Still, she would gladly sell her soul to the Devil himself if it guaranteed alleviation from her excruciating ailments.

Sprite found it too painful to nod, so she seized his hand instead. Frank understood her wordless plea and smiled kindly at her.

Sprite suspicions were confirmed almsot instantaneously, for Frank produced a shard of glass - one of the pieces that littered the bathroom floor, retrieved for DNA purposes - held her hand out flat and slashed a deep, glistening gash into her palm.

All this happened in such quick succession that Sprite couldn't even react until it was already done. She screamed before she felt it, as witnessing it was horrific enough, but one could call it howling when the pain receptors finally kicked in. Blood courashed alarmingly quickly from the open wound, soiling the bedsheets, the floor, and dripping all over herself as Frank's grip on her knees (incredibly firm, having not wavered once) prevented her from standing up.

'Now,' Frank said coolly, in a voice like melting sugar. The pang of self-hatred Sprite suddenly felt couldn't not be helped. Even in the fucking state she was in, she still wasn't immune to his irrevocable sensuality. 'Just one, for a nice change, how about you do as you're told and tell me the truth, and hopefully you won't bleed to death.'

She began preparing herself for worse - if that was even possible. She'd have no choice but to confess she'd foolishly deluded herself into believing she was clever and skilful enough to continue feeding her addiction in secret, and had been doing so ever since she arrived.

'From the beginning,' she admitted numbly. 'I never stopped.' Honesty. Damn. He was really hoping she'd lie again. 'Please, Frankie, I never meant to lie to you but I just can't cope without it. I'm terribly sorry, I promise I did try, but with all the horrible things you put me through I just didn't know how else to-.'

She uttered a strangled cry as Frank, like he had just woken up, pushed her head down as he knelt up, pressing his sticky, red mouth right against her ear. Pinching at her back of her neck until he drew blood, with a malevolent undertone Frank whispered, 'Are you saying this is my fault?'

'No. No, of course that's not what I meant,' Sprite stuttered fearfully. 'Sorry, that - that came out wrong, I-.'

'Mmm,' Frank muttered, somewhat more scary than before. 'For your sake, little one, see that you articulate eloquently next time.'

Frank had apparently, relievedly, evidently chosen to abandon teasing her - and therefore, any expansion on the subject. He rose to his feet, announcing he was feeling generous and that he had decided to take pity on his little mouse ( _oh, joy,_ Sprite thought dryly, fighting back tears. _Aren't I a lucky girl?_ ), therefore he endeavoured to find something to relieve her pain and heal the maliciously inflicted wound on her hand.

'Stay right where I put you. Don't move a muscle, do you understand?'

Again, she couldn't nod. Merely averted her gaze to her hands, neatly folded in her lap, with a begrudging, forcibly meek expression schooled onto her face.

She heard the lock snapping from the other side: she couldn't make a run for it even if she wanted to, not now.

Suddenly, a feeling of all encompassing fear seized her. Perhaps he didn't intend to come back? There was nothing stopping him from carrying on as normal, leaving the three potential fatalities to fight it out amongst themselves over which would ultimately take her life: Concussion, infection, or extreme blood loss?

Melodrama, as it almost always turned out to be, was short lived. Frank returned in just a few moments, both blessedly and unsettlingly much calmer than before. About his person, he carried two unidentifiable solutions: one, a startlingly bright yellow, emitting a near-florescent glow in the dim light. Contained in a small transparent vial, uncorked with a squeaky pop and administered through having Sprite's nose roughy pinched, with little or no time to breath and pouring the entire thing down her throat.

She coughed and spluttered, complaining that it 'Tastes like shit!'. This made him chuckle, but didn't stop him from tapping her slightly harder than was necessary in the arm, because 'Darling, just so you're aware, you're ungratefulness is showing again.'

The second, contained in an awfully nostalgic pipette straight from the secondary school science classroom, was something all-together more mesmerising. If someone were to acquire the ability to liquefy iridescence, that elixir would be the result. She held her palm out shakily, not daring to take her eyes off him as he carefully squeezed four drops, no more, no less, directly into the open wound. It burned and sizzled, steam rising from her hand with a sickening popping sound and an even worse smell.

'Oh, hush,' Frank murmered unsympathetically after she cried out in surprised pain. 'It's not that bad. I've had coughs hurt more than that.' He repeated the same mechanical process with the other accident that actually was an accident.

Sprite was annoyed, mesmerised, and slightly terrified by whatever alchemy Frank practised in the quiet, sinister seclusion of his laboratory, and how it effected her body so profoundly. The pain in her head was instantly gone, and she could almost feel the swelling getting smaller and smaller until it vanished within itself. Like the Big Bang theory but with craniums. Not even a hint of a scar remained on either hand. It had stopped bleeding immediately, the skin and tissue repairing itself to surpass the skill and standard of any surgeon.

'I'm not technically allowed to have done that,' Frank admitted. 'Don't breathe a word of this to anyone, do you hear me?'

'Why are you not - okay! Alright, my lips are sealed.' Miraculously, Sprite corrected herself rather than waiting to have Frank glare at her.

A distant door slammed, making the both jump. A distinct, high-pitched, nasally voice drifted down the corridor, mid-way through a sentence.

'...Only want to check if she's okay...'

Columbia was coming dorm the hall, obviously having been woken or disturbed by angst episode number whatever, with pure-hearted intents to check on Sprite.

Frank turned to her urgently. 'You suffered a night terror and I comforted you. Understand?'

She nodded. She didn't care how he was lying to protect himself, for she also didn't want Columbia to know of her deepest afflictions. Despite agreeing, she quickly asked, 'What about the blood?'

Spattered all over the white bedsheets in alarmingly bright spots and slowly drying in the puddle on the floor.

Frank turned to leave and waved an absent-minded hand. _That's your problem_ , the gesture said. _You caused it, you resolve it._

Columbia slowly opened the door, cautiously stepping in to the room. Clad in a pair of baby blue silken pyjamas, her bright hair in childish pigtails that failed miserably at hiding the neglected roots, finished off with a Minnie Mouse hairband. She looked _sickeningly_ cute.

'Oh! Hello there, firefly, what are you doing up?' Frank charmingly greeted an increasingly confused Columbia, stepping right up to her in what Sprite gratefully noticed as an attempt to obstruct her view.

'I heard screaming,' Columbia explained brightly enough for this ungodly hour. 'At first I thought...y'know, but then I heard glass smashing too.' She gave the room a not entirely convinced once over. 'Jokingly, Columbia said, 'Sounded like someone was bring murdered.' Sprite chocked back a sob. Columbia either didn't notice this or felt disinclined to mention it. 'You guys okay?'

'It seems our little stowaway had a rather vivid dream. Quite a nasty one, too, I'd assume. I'm not surprised it unsettled you, firefly, it nearly sent me into cardiac arrest from all the way up there!' He tilted his head to the ceiling and back. She looked at Sprite, sighing with a relieved smile.

'I used to get those too. Haven't had one in ages, though I've said it now. It's probably a good thing they're hard to remember, right Tink?'

She nodded, wanting nothing more for these people to leave her room so she could sleep in peace. 'Took a vase out and everything,' she chuckled. 'That was probably the smashing sound you heard.'

'Right!', Frank cut in brightly, reading Sprite's mind and coming to the rescue like he always did. 'It was lovely to catch up with my best girls, but I must sleep now.'

He flashed Sprite a dashing smile and pecked Columbia's lips before he left. Already the whole room, and each other's company, seemed palpably less exciting.

'He calls you firefly?'

Columbia smiled, though it was obviously forced and painful to watch. 'Just an old nickname,' she said nonchalantly. 'Stupid, really.'

She says, talking to the girl who called herself Sprite, Lessie, Tink, Bambi, Sylvie _and_ little mouse. That was excluding the intimate pet names.

'Tink, why don't you stay in our room tonight? Mine and Magenta's, I mean.'

'Why...?' She hadn't yet learnt how to hide when she was wary.

'Because,' Columbia pursed her lips on one of the rare moments where she was thinking. 'I think, if you really are senseless enough to stay here, there's something you should know.'

Sprite allowed Columbia to tow her along by the hand (she didn't feel even the slightest hint of pain - whatever that stuff was was revolutionary) and, under the luminous glow of the obnoxious pink 'C' on the door, stepped quietly into the shared room, without having to be reminded to shut - and lock - the door behind her.

* * *

Magenta turned from her post at the ostentatiously gaudy vanity station - under the harsh glow of the naked light bulbs bordering the mirror and the Tim Burton inspired style her personal aesthetic, she looked as though she'd stepped right out of a film noir - and pulled Columbia aside urgently.

'What are you doing?' She hissed. 'Why have you brought her in here?'

'No, Jen, I just think that it's unfair to keep her in the dark about...' The painfully optimistic one of the two evoked a very strange and unprecedented change of character by giving her friend a very grave look. A look which evidently harboured a lot of meaning behind it, for Magenta chewed her lip nervously.

'Seriously? Here? _Now?_ '

' _Yes_ , Magenta I really don't think we have that much time.' Her voice dropped to a murmer that Sprite wasn't supposed to be able to hear. 'He said she had a night terror but there's _blood_ all over the floor!'

So she _had_ noticed. And, very bravely, decided to stay quite. Sprite felt she owed Columbia a rather hefty apology. All this time, the silver-haired girl regarded her as nothing more than an attention-seeking airhead. It seemed Columbia could be clever and crafty when called for, too. More this one trick up her spangly gold sleeve, Sprite sensed.

'Okay. Alright. Fine, just-.'

To Sprite's pure confusion, Magenta had Columbia toss her a thick, pink dressing gown, a spare quilt - _Bang on The Door merchandise still exists? No way!_ \- and an elegantly stylish negligee, and Magenta draped each piece over the air vent.

'Camera,' Magenta said upon seeing Sprite's perplexed expression.

'He puts cameras in your room?'

'He puts cameras in every room,' Magenta said gravely.

 _Then - then that means...what twenty four seven? Changing? Showering? Drinking? Oh, God, no not the time we..._

Sprite forbade herself for thinking any more. She didn't want to burst into tears (again) and ruin any chance of 'getting the scoop' as one may say.

But more importantly, what scandalous secret was so terrible for them to have to take every precaution against Frank finding out that she knew?

'We're telling you this because we want to protect you,' Columbia began solemnly, sitting down across from Sprite on the tacky chaise lounge. We're not trying to frighten you, Tink, we think it's only fair that you should know.' She sighed heavily, exchanging a nervous glance with Magenta - who nodded encouragingly - before she continued. 'You already know about Frank's...tendencies.'

'Mmhmm,' she nodded. 'Few sandwiches short of a picnic, Stevie Wonder could see that.'

'Frank evidently having a screw loose somewhere is not the thing you should be worried about.' She paused, for dramatic effect or to prepare herself, Sprite didn't know. 'It's his temper.' Sprite opened her mouth, but Columbia cut her off before she could speak. 'You didn't really have a night terror, did you?' Sprite shook her head guilty. 'Frank tired to hurt you, didn't he?' Sprite nodded gravely.

'It was my fault. I upset him,' she admitted softly. I lied to him, I went behind his back and stole some drinks from the cabinet. He found me in the bathroom and got really angry-.' Sprite's breath hitched unexpectedly.

Magenta blinked. 'How are you not drunk?'

'The probability of my imminent death probably sobered me up.'

'It's not your fault, Sylvie. It's never your fault.' Magenta shook her head sorrowfully. She grimaced. 'The problem is, it's not strictly _his_ fault, either. You see - Columbia, why don't you see if you can clean Sprite's room up for her? Don't worry about the blood, I'll deal with that.'

'Oh, why do I always have to miss out? What more do I possibly have to do to prove I'm worth trusting?'

'Yes, Columbia, you have done more than enough. You've gone above and beyond the expectations of a worthy companion, and your fierce loyalty is commendable.' Magneta squeezed her friends forearm and looked her dead in the eyes. 'Please, let me finish this.'

Columbia rolled her eyes and flounced away in a huff - leaving the room very, very quietly.

'The last thing I want to do its to make excuses for him,' Magenta continued as soon as the door clicked shut. 'But I don't know how else to express it, other than to tell you: Frank wouldn't hurt a fly, but he does suffer greatly from his temper.'

'What? _What?!_ ' Sprite had never felt so betrayed. 'He degrades me all the time, he _threatens_ me all the time, he fucking sliced my hand, I-'! I wasn't even supposed to tell you that,' she said quickly.

'It's been his ultimate downfall ever since he was a child.' Sprite couldn't imagine Frank as a baby or a teenager. She wouldn't be surprised to learn he'd just strolled unto the earth, fully formed. 'It's hard for me to explain, because I know that he tries. He just tries so hard, and it breaks my heart that there's nothing anyone can do to save him...' She drifted off sadly. I think the easiest way for you to understand it is if you think of it as a volcano.'

'What?'

'Basically, from the outside looking in, everything appears fine and non-threatening. Intriguing, certainly intimitaing, even beautiful to some. But, unbeknownst to everyone, the lava is restless, agitated, and it builds up and up over time. Unfortunately for them, they only get the hint and start to run when the scorching molten is already visible and leaking down the sides. But then, of course, no one is fast enough to get to safety by the time the entire thing has erupted.'

'So what are we supposed to do,' Sprtie scoffed, 'find shelter and wait for it to stop?' Magenta smiled humourlessly. Sprite blinked. 'Oh shit. What, really?'

Magenta nodded. 'The tragic thing is, we have no choice but to let him burn himself out, otherwise they'll be even less time between the current episode and the next one.'

'Hoe often does it happen?'

'About every three months.'

'Is it honestly dangerous?'

'Very.'

'And...and was that it? What just happened to me, was that the eruption, as it were?'

'I'm afraid not, my dear.' Magneta looked grave. 'Out of ten, that was about a three.'

Sprite felt rather ill. 'And there's nothing we can do for him?' As much as Frank's inexcusable behaviour was worthy of a lengthy prison sentence, if he, or anyone, were to need help managing their everyday lives, Sprite would always be the first to offer it.

'Not at the moment, no.' Magenta smiled very kindly at her then, obviously suspecting the conversation was rather intense for her. She was correct. 'But, the one good thing to come from this is that we can study it. This particular affliction is very common where we come from, but for some unjust reason, Frank has been lumbered with a temper that is an exceptionally powerful and irrational master.'

'From _where?_ ', Sprtie exasperated, essentially disregarding everything her confidant had just said. 'Why won't _anyone_ tell me _anything?_ I _know_ you're not from here, Magenta, I've known since the very beginning, so _why_ is everyone _lying_ to me?'

Magenta bit her lip. Her eyes usually expressed an unreadable void where others expressed emotion, but right then, at that exact blink-and-you'd-miss-it moment, they looked conflicted, determined, and very, very scared.

Quite suddenly, with movements sharp enough to make Sprite give a little yip of surprise, Magenta reached behind her neck and unbuttoned her uniform, pulling the shoulders down to wrap around her upper arms.

'What is this?' Magenta pointed to a unique shaped birthmark on her collarbone. A coat of arms was the only feasible description Sprite could think of - the silhouette of a headstone, the colour of irritated flesh, stood out like a sore thumb against her milky white, exceptionally smooth skin. Tied up in what was either supposed to be interwoven vines or snakes, crossing in the absolute centre, the disproportionately large heads of which flanked symmetrical sides of the top curve perfectly.

'A birthmark,' Sprite answered after marvelling at its detail.

'Why do you think that?'

'Because I have one too.' Sprite was too busy removing her sock and rolling up the leg of her trousers to notice Magenta's face drop into an expression of completely numb shock. Sprtie plucked a makeup wipe from the open packet on the table and scrubbed away at her left ankle, allowing a mark of near identical aesthetic to gradually fade into view. 'See?' Sprite looked up proudly, almost triumphantly - Magenta had expertly schooled her expression into one of mild surprise by then. 'It flared up when I was around eleven. The dermatologist told me it was hyper-pigmentation, but they teased me for it at school, so I learned how to cover it with foundation and concealer.'

After a noticeably long time, Magenta whispered 'Well, that's a coincidence.'

With refusal to say anymore on the matter, Sprite was sent to bed.

* * *

 **Round and around I go  
Addicted to the numb livin' in the cold  
The higher, the lower, the down, down, down  
Sick of being tired and sick  
And ready for another kind of fix  
The damage is damning me down, down, down**

Runnin' - Adam Lambert

* * *

 ***some kind of dramatic tense music goes in heerrrrreeee***

 **Alma Oakley**


	9. Chapter Nine

**For once, I really don't have anything to say. Therefore, I'll thank my wonderful reviewers (LandyShadow, Mr. Knightman, Guest and Skullegion), and, as a side note, Hazel Ashwood - I really miss your frequent soliloquies, and I hope you're doing okay.**

 **Aside from recommending LandyShadow's fanfiction (What Happens At The Frankenstein Place), I'll warn you that this instalment is obscenely long, and let you get on with the story.**

* * *

Friend or foe, no one could dispute that Dr. Frank-N-Furter was a colossus of his time.

A near-genius scientific protégée since early childhood, exceptionally charming and charismatic, more than capable of manipulating authority figures of the highest level into doing exactly as he wanted (not a shred of hope for the commoners), and exceptionally alluring and enticing even by Transylvanian standards made the extra-terrestrial transvestite almost super-human. Super-alien. Whatever.

All of these credits excluding the fact that he was was born into a line of people who were incredibly high up in his planet's social circles. As high as one could go without being the monarch of Transsexual themselves.

It was to this pretentious status that Frank owed his very existence.

It was not a choice to leave his home. It might have been one day. In the future where, perhaps, his scientific discoveries had surpassed all expectations on its revolutionary effect that he had to travel through the galaxies in order to expand his research. But, due to an unforeseen, tremendously unfortunate change of circumstance, this was not a business trip so much as an exile.

Frank was not perfect. Despite magazine headlines, most of the population and, at times, his own opinion of himself, he was - ironically so - only human. He made mistakes, misjudgment, communication errors, just like everyone else. Except, in the true Furter family spirit of never being able to do anything without blowing all other attempts out of the water, his mistake just so happened to cost him his livelihood.

However, exercising another unmistakable trait of his exceptionally fruitful family tree, he vowed to never disclose what happened, nor to admit he was in the wrong, and he certainly wasn't about to take all the blame for himself.

He needed a cover story. Something to delude all the brainless peasants into thinking he had an ounce of control over his life anymore. Therefore, he acknowledged his social gifts, recognised his societal privilege, and embarked on what Frank would call an 'adventure', but what other, more prudish people would call an 'extreme invasion of privacy'.

Frank had leapt at the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. He had his suspicions about that emaciated, skeletal one with the straggly hair for donkey's years now. It was almost unheard of for a native Transsexual to harbour any and all aspect of shyness - so on the first day he ever saw Riff Raff (he remembered the date very vividly) he was almost rendered completely speechless by the quiet awkwardness that seemed to roll off the bizarre man in waves.

Almost immediately, Frank knew Riff Raff had something to hide. It took even less time for the scientist to conclude that he was to be the one to discover it.

'Who is he? I've never even seen him before, why is he here?' Frank was unidentifiably irritated by the very presence of this man ( _how dare this miserable creature soil my beloved planet?!_ ) and expressed this to a small group of equally important people he'd invited to his quarters a few evenings afterward.

Magenta, a funny looking thing with a strong, square-set jaw and bird's nest of a hairdo, looked almost guiltily at Frank and said, 'That's my older brother.'

He just remembered going so completely slack-jawed that he dribbled an entire mouthful of red wine into his lap. That evening, his entire outfit of choice was dry clean only. What a ball ache.

' _What?_ ' Frank whispered urgently, scooting closer to her on his knees and clasping her shoulders. He wouldn't be surprised to learn that everything around them just dissolved away, leaving them both in secluded, dark silence. 'Why have you never told me you had a brother, and more importantly, why does your only sibling look like _that?_ '

'He's horribly shy,' Magenta explained, if slightly insulted by Frank's description of her only living relative. 'Birth defect, I think, but loosing both our parents so suddenly definitely helped to worsen it.'

'Magenta, I knew your mother and your father since you were...ooh, _that_ high. Now why on earth would both your parents: dear friends of mine, remarkable people, I'm incredibly blessed and proud to have known them,' tears momentarily sparkled in her dark eyes, 'go out of their way to conceal another child from me?' She teetered on the edge of saying something. 'I'm afraid to say I don't quite believe you.'

She covered her face and dragged her hands down her cheeks. 'Oh, just - just please, you have to promise me you won't tell a soul. My parents trusted me with this for years, I feel like I'm disrespecting their honour.'

Frank clasped both of her hands firmly. They had been fairly close friends back in the day. It was incredibly uncomfortable to think about interacting with her in that way now. 'I swear this stays between me and you. I held mountains of respect for them too. I _miss_ them too, at times. Whatever they could tell you, you can tell me.'

She pecked a chaste kiss on his cheekbone in thanks, gestured for him to come closer and whispered in his ear.

Even under the multiple thick layers of clown-white makeup, one could see the colour drain from Frank's face. The glass of wine slipped from his grasp and shattered loudly into tiny little pieces on the dark floorboards. Neither of them even flinched.

Frank held Magenta, who was trembling, at arms length and started at her intently. 'You are a lot of things, and a liar certainly is not one of them, but my girl, if this is a joke-!'

'It _isn't!_ ', she stressed, seizing his hands again. 'I'm deeply, deeply ashamed and even more sorry that I've forced this on to you as well, but you have to believe me when I say it's all true!'

Frank murmured, 'Well, a problem shared is a problem halved,' and then speaking normally, 'When did this happen?'

'Pre-teens.'

'Oh! Oh my, so a while ago then?' Frank's demeanour abruptly softened. 'And you, you brave, _brave_ girl...' he stroked a strand of hair behind her ear and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, 'have been dealing with this all on your own all the time?'

Magentas breath hitched, having shrank right back into a vulnerable child at the presence of a gentle touch and loving words which she'd missed for so long.

Sensing she was close to getting upset, Frank cuddled her close and placed a resounding, chaste kiss on her forehead, before instructing her to enjoy herself and having someone prepare a dish of her favourite food to help her along the way.

Frank met with Riff Raff a week after. He threatened him with it.

Said that if he didn't immediately become his docile little pet, demurely obeying Frank's every command (which included leaving the galaxy with him - the situation was explained to the pathetic excuse of a man whilst he was begging and whining for mercy at the sight of the whip with a barbed end trailing casually behind Frank as he walked circles around him, determined to drink in this glorious victory from all angles), then Frank would expose the animal for the scum he was and the man would be finished.

Just when Frank thought his week couldn't be anymore eventful: he learnt something. Or rather, Riff Raff told him something. Shrieking and wailing at the top of his lungs, desperately babbling anything in an attempt at a sliver of redemption. Frank didn't know why he chose to believe this immediately, but had learnt to trust his instincts.

The decision to take up the conversation one more time with Magenta was right. No surprise there. He was _always_ right.

It happened at his house. A boringly average day. Neither of them felt the slightest hint of unrest or threats of any kind, which was why Frank didn't even have to be stealthy as he stepped up behind Magenta and sent her tumbling down a set of lethal, particularly unforgiving stairs.

The silence that ensued was almost as loud as the crash itself.

Frank strolled casually down to the next floor, carefully lowering himself to sit on the bottom steps. He lit a cigarette next to the unconscious, horribly battered form of who used to be one of his closest friends. It certainly took some contortion skill to assemble one's self in a position like that. Frank was almost certain legs were not supposed to bend that way.

It was a full five minutes before Magenta eventually came round, announcing herself, at first, by a series of deep groans. These only got louder and shriller as she realised where she was, what had happened, and what her body now looked like.

'I think you're just being a drama queen,' Frank commented nonchalantly after a long drag of his third cigarette. 'The shock is bound to have kicked in by now, you shouldn't feel a thing.'

'Frank...Frankie?' Her voice was surprisingly soft and delicate, affirming the suspicion that the girl thought she was in a rather vivid nightmare, rather than force herself to deal with the fact that this (seemingly) unprovoked attack had actually happened, and to her, of all people. 'Why...what did you...you threw me down the _stairs?!_ '

She screeched the final word as Frank leaned over and quietly flicked what used to be her left knee.

'As it happens,' Frank began calmly, stumping out his cigarette on her bare leg (she very nearly vomited then) and lit yet another one. 'I have just left a very eye-opening conversation with your dear brother, and he told me something interesting. Very interesting indeed.'

He looked to gauge her expression and saw that she was swooning, eyes and head dropping as she was close to fainting from the pain. He wrenched her head up by a fistful of her frizzy hair, shouting, 'Don't pass out me just yet! We've got a lot to get through, dearie.' He tore the entire clump from her scalp with ease, for good measure, before he continued, as normally as if they were conversing over a morning coffee as old friends. 'When you told me your brother was fucking your cousin, I thought I knew what disbelief meant, but I wasn't quite sure of _betrayal_ until I learned _you've_ been fucking _him_ all your God-damed life!'

Magenta would've hung her head in absolute guilty shame if her neck hadn't been craned excruciatingly by Frank's vice-like grip on her hair.

'And to think I _pitied you_ ,' Frank growled, pressing his mouth right up against her ear, as other, lighter-haired females might tell you, was a bit of a habit of his. 'I comforted you and I held you and I supported you, when not only were you lying to your dear Frankie, you were prepared to throw your own flesh and blood to the wolves to save your own skin!'

He brutally backhanded her, hard, right across the face. Her teeth clacked, she saw stars, and it would later be confirmed that Frank had broken Magenta's jaw.

Kneeling right down to the girl who had now pressed her bloodied cheek against the cold floor, tenderly brushing the hair out of her eyes and spitefully blowing cigarette smoke into her face, he whispered, 'You are a disgrace. To me, you are a disgrace. To my planet of Transsexual, you are a disgrace. To the galaxy of Transylvania, to all of its inhabitants, to your dead mother and to your rotting father _you are a disgrace_.'

He cruelly spat at her and shoved her head into the floor one last time and rose to his feet. Using the sliver of energy the condemned girl had left, she wrapped her fingers around Frank's ankle.

'Frank, please,' she croaked. The pain.'

He jerked his head towards the stairs. The Stairs. The stairs that could potentially be responsible for Magenta's agonising death and would prevent the poor, helpless girl from potentially seeing Frank get his just desserts.

'I'll leave a phone. If you can make it back up there, you can call for help.' Frank nudged her mangled leg with the tip of his stiletto boot. She convulsed and screamed again. 'If you survive - providing you can walk again - you'll be coming with me. I've been offered a rather stupendous opportunity that's really too fantastic to turn down. You'll be one of the tiny percentage of low-life criminals that can say they lived out their days in the lap of luxury. My reasoning, Magenta, is from this day forth, I own you. Body and soul. If you need any help deciding, just remember this: one tiny accidental slip of the tongue from me and the world gets swept from under your feet.'

He left her there, in a tangled mess on the floor. He carried on with his day. He went out. He saw some friends. He came home, had dinner prepared, turned up the record player to drown out the infernal wailing.

A week or so passed, unsuspicious in its entirety, carried out the way any person of socio-economic success would usually spend their time.

No one, not even Frank, could fathom how she did it. He just woke up one morning and she was gone. Inquired at the local hospital, visited her in the intensive care unit with flowers, sweets and a few lingering kisses to her dear face. Not forgetting, however, to wait until the nurses - 'absolutely remarkable work, darlings, you really deserve so much more recognition' - were otherwise pre-occupied before hissing, 'I won't spare a single detail, even if you die. Don't think for one moment your funeral will get you out of this.'

In time, everything fell into place. Magenta healed exceptionally well and remarkably quickly - Magenta didn't miss the disgustingly evil wink Frank had given her as, even the officials, marvelled at what medical miracle had blessed them on this day. Riff-Raff formed an unprecedented, extremely close relationship with Frank. Followed him like a dog, leaping up eagerly to attend to his every need, no matter how small or stupid the task. And Frank was told it was his time to leave.

So they went.

* * *

 _Sir, with all due respect, that's got to be the stupidest thing you've ever said._

 _Of_ course _we'll see you again! No one said anything about you leaving permanently - there'd be an uprising making the front page in damn Pluto if that ever did come to pass._

 _We all agreed it was in the best interests of all of us if you took some time away from all of...this. To enable you to figure out what you want to do with your life and the necessary steps to take if you want to improve. I doubt your popularity will ever be rekindled to the blazing inferno that it once was, but you'd be commended tremendously for trying._

 _Granted, we miss you terribly; however it's time you learn that friendship, trust, dignity and honour are not things that are just given. But things we must earn._

 _The entire planet is rooting for you, sir. Prove to us you're worthy of regaining that societal throne you once had. Earn it._

 _Kind regards._

The sender's name had been censored - crudely scribbled over with a thick, black pen - as had every single letter Frank had received from home since one week after his arrival. They took every precaution in the book to ensure Frank had no way of contacting anyone form the galaxy all those light years away. Any and all information he recieve was meticulisly selected by the authorities, and all he could do was sit and wait for those precious letters. He pretended not to care whether they reached out to him or not, but had saved each and every one, tied together with an elastic band and stored inside one of many bland, unassuming storage units.

He read through the elegant copperplate a few times, before heaving a great, I'm-so-fed-up-of-this-now sigh, before neatly folding the yellowed parchment and slipping it back inside the envelope.

Build a human being, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

 _Revolutionary? Yes. Time-consuming? Most definitely. The perfect way to get back into the home I adore and ache for terribly? Obviously, I'm not doing this for the shits and giggles. Challenging? Haha, say that again and I'll sock you one in the face._

But fun? _Fun?!_

'I swear to god,' Frank muttered to himself as he ascended the stairs, 'if I ever find the bastard who suggested that I'll kill them.'

Oh, it was just so _haaarrddddd_. Even Frank had to admit he'd been a tad naive when selecting this particular task as the one to guarantee his one-way ticket back to the moon-drenched shores of his beloved planet. But never did he _ever_ realise the full magnitude.

Of course it wasn't due to his lack of intelligence. No, that wasn't the problem at all. He knew the actual composition process would take a few years at least, and he was fine with that, for he knew exactly what to do and when to do it. It was finding the desired material that was the really unforeseen stumbling block.

Luring people in was exceptionally easy. Any excuse to host balls, parties, or affairs was the one thing the three of them could actually agree on. He was incredibly fortunate to have Columbia be so keen on this idea as well, so he really thought he'd have everything ready to go in no time at all.

Except everyone on this green-blue marble of a planet was so fucking _ugly_ it really put a spanner in the works. As if Frank's lifetime achievement was going to have a head like a thumb and the physique of a god-damned walrus!

Columbia's vile old thing was the first advancement he actually made - and that was nothing to do with physicality. Frank's logic was, if the man was brainless enough to piss away his chances at a long, fulfilling life in exchange for rock and roll music (the dregs of which, he might add), porn (ditto) and a motorbike (and that's a hat trick) then he didn't really didn't deserve one in the first place.

Frank's insatiable generosity blessed even the worst of the lot ( _You're too nice, Frank that's your problem,_ he thought _. You care too much_ ), and he had only removed half. Not that the blithering idiot would even notice, anyway. Unfortunately the animal didn't survive, so Frank was unable to test that theory.

But even _that_ had its complications, for he couldn't get a third of the way through the process without being interrupted by his sweet, demure little mouse, of all the people!

It seemed, even after the repercussions of her first time breaking the rules, she still hadn't gotten it into her head that he was to be obeyed and respected at all time and no exceptions. Admittedly, sometimes it was tempting to let her behaviour slide, as her smile was so beautiful, but he wouldn't be doing her any favours if he didn't teach her any discipline.

However, he admired her spark, and would hate for her to lose it. A spark was fine, as long as it was contained.

Which was why Lessie was probably sulking in her room after receiving a good telling-off. He went into her room, hoping for an apology and intending to cheer her up a little, and found that she wasn't there. Mildly confused, he continued to search all the usual places until he eventually found her in one of the guest rooms on the highest floor.

Sprite couldn't bear to sleep in that room anymore - even after the floor and sheets had been vigorously cleaned to ensure not one single drop of blood remained. She seriously doubted she'd ever be able to sleep there again. She was also jittery and nervous because of the mystery substances Frank had given her. The iridescent one was fine, as she didn't ingest it and saw it perform its magic right away, but the yellow one could have been anything, and it was probably wreaking havoc on her insides.

'There you are, you bad girl, I've been looking for you.' Frank climbed in beside her. Childishly, she scooted as far away as she could without falling out of bed and refused to acknowledge him, a ferocious expression cemented on to her usually delicate features even though he couldn't see. 'Hey...Lessie...' his voice was soft and held honestly surprised offence, as if he couldn't possibly fathom why she'd harbour resentment towards him. 'Please, darling, don't be that way...'

In what was probably the most immature endeavour of her life, she hurled a pillow behind her with hopes to hit him, without even turning around to see if it worked. It did.

'Well, now, look at that, you've gone and smeared my makeup all over your lovely fresh pillows.'

He hit her back with just a light thwack to the back of her head. She curled up even tighter and actually had to try really hard not to start giggling, which she would've been really angry at herself for.

'I don't know why you're being such a child.' Frank made the absent-minded comment neutrally enough, but Sprite knew better than to accept what she initially received on the surface. He took to lightly raking his long nails across her smooth, white back as he continued condescending her. 'If you want to sit there and sulk that's fine by me, but you know none of this would've happened if you'd just talked to me.'

The rustling of the sheets gave her away. Sprite jolted slightly in shock. She hadn't been expecting that, nor did she understand (or appreciate) the statement one bit. 'Ah, see, you feel guilty about it now, don't you?'

Sprite knew Frank was only trying to goad her into arguing with him, but she just couldn't help herself.

Without turning around (as if to tell him she had _some_ dignity left), she muttered, 'That doesn't even make any sense.'

'Bullshit.'

'No, it isn't.'

'It's bullshit, Celeste, and you know it.'

Irritated, she sat up to face him against what her mind had been screaming at her to do. Unashamedly smirking at the expresión on her face, Frank sighed and said, 'Had you came to me in the beginning and admitted you were struggling, I would've done everything I could to support you. I know you _like_ to think I'm a black-hearted sociopath, so perhaps it was your own stubbornness that prevented you from getting the help you so desperately need, but what it boils down to is that you have no one to blame but yourself.'

'Okay. Sure,' she responded sarcastically, hugging her knees to her chest as something to focus on so she wouldn't lose her nerve. 'So you _accidentally_ hit me with a door, and you just happened to trip and slice my hand with a piece of glass, and I suppose some demonic entity possessed you to force these foreign substances into my body without my consent.'

Frank hadn't stopped petting her during her speech, except the elegant, long-fingered hand was now caressing her arm instead. His smirk widened and he even snorted an audacious laugh.

'Well,' he clucked his tongue as if he was in deep, deep thought about his response. 'As it happens, I _didn't_ mean to hit you with that door, although I dearly wish I did now.' He paused, and muttered, 'I really don't know what you expected to happen, how was I to know you were curled up against it? What a silly place to lie down.' He tutted and continued in the same infuriatingly patronising tone as before. 'You cut one hand yourself, so you could say I was making a pair, and if I hadn't given you the solutions that I did, you undoubtably would've died.'

He looked over at her, face still buried in her knees. She didn't move or even seem to hear him at all. After a short time, he chuckled to himself and said, 'Wouod you have preferred it if I left you there, ensuring the next time I saw you would be to chop you up and hide you in the walls?'

She hit him. Sprite didn't know what possessed her to do it, or why she thought it would ever be a good idea in the first place, but she did it anyway. Not hard, by any means, but enough unexpected force and a slight sting on his bare arm.

Annoyingly, it probably hurt her more than him. His muscles were like God-damned _wire._ She tried not to grimace from the throbbing sensation in her hand, but failed miserably.

'Okay,' Frank said in a situationally inappropriate nonchalance that instantly set Sprite's insides thrashing.

 _Oh God, oh shit, oh why did I do that, I'm such a twat_.

'Normally I'd consider hitting you back - twice as hard, mind you.' She giggled desperately as Frank closed the distance between them far too calmly for her liking. 'Although, I suppose it would be funnier if I were to just...slowly push you off the bed.' He bared those perfect teeth in a wicked smile. 'What do you think? Hmm?' His tone was the epitome of innocence as he started doing just that.

'No, Frank, don't! Frank, I'm serious, don't you dare push me out!' Slowly sliding backwards, regrettably without the ability to turn her head one hundred and eighty degrees like an owl, was the most awfully suspenseful thing she'd ever experienced. Just waiting for the surface to disappear abruptly beneath her and send her crashing to the floor in an unceremonious heap. 'Frank, this isn't funny!' She laughed and screamed at the same time as she felt her balance fatally abandoning her.

A split second before she tipped over, Frank seized her hips and whisked her away, half-dropping her directly on top of his bare chest, cackling with laughter.

'Oh, as if I would do such a thing to my favourite little mouse!' Frank teased her with a chocolate cherry coloured pout, as he so often took great pleasure in doing. Between scattering wet kisses all over her face, and in a significantly more serious time, he murmured, 'Now then, my lamb, how many times are we going to fall out before things change?'

She frowned and buried her face in his firm chest. He took her in his arms protectively - but nudged her after a short time, as it was her turn to explain herself.

'I know what I did was stupid,' she whispered softly. 'I was just embarrassed.'

Frank sighed and shifted them into a more comfortable position. 'I _wish_ you'd stop being so hard on yourself, baby. There's no shame in admitting you need help. It's actually an incredibly brave and grown-up step to take. And, if you still fear seeming rather silly, just remember who you're living with. Could you imagine the state the rest of us would be in if we didn't use each other for support?'

Sprite giggled and held on to him even tighter. She needn't have worried about hurting Frank - she was about four times smaller that he, and even then he had an exceptionally strong frame (of course she hadn't 'accidentally' caught sight of him exiting the shower once or twice. Maybe three times), therefore Sprite could cling on to him as tightly as she wanted. Which, still, even after three whole months, she refused to admit the Frank was the security that she needed. Even to herself.

He gently guided her to slide off of him, lying next to him on the luxurious bed instead.

'Now, why don't you snuggle up here, with me,' Frank's voice went back to the soft, gentle one she liked the most. No hint of malevolent connotations or condensing tones. Only Frank. He adjusted the covers around them both - she squealed in delight when he roughly tried to bury her in them - and pulled her close to rest her head on his chest. 'Get cozy, and try to get some sleep. Okay?'

She mumbled her agreement, but was talking again within five seconds as she was distracted by something else.

'Can I ask you something?'

Internally rolling his eyes ( _why won't this infernal girl just go to sleep!)_ he smiled down at her. 'Anything, flower.'

'Are you ever going to tell me where you came from?'

The question knocked Frank for six. He honestly didn't think Lessie had the slightest idea about any of that - and very little slipped by his notice.

Feigning innocent bemusement, he responded, 'I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean, lamb.'

'Bullshit. That's bullshit, Frank-N-Furter, and you know it.' She cleverly used Frank's own phrase against him - not forgetting the use of his full name for authoritarian purposes. 'There's something about all three of you - you, Magenta and Riff Raff - that's different. I know it's not me being paranoid because Columbia doesn't have it and I certainly don't have it either. I can't pinpoint what it is, but I've noticed it since the beginning. You never seem to get ill, your skin texture is really unusual, even the way you move is just... _better_.'

'Well, I hate to contradict you, but I think-.'

'And - and sometimes,' she interrupted before she could lose her nerve, 'I see you looking really sad. Like, for no reason. One moment you'll be flamboyant and eccentric and everything else, the next you'll be staring dejectedly at the floor like your own coffin just materialised in front of you. And,' she added with a certain degree of caution, inspired both by Frank's rare silence and her even rarer burst of courage, 'you wouldn't exactly dissect a human being for no reason.'

'Are you certain of that?' Frank replied smoothly. 'I might just be punishing ignorant people who think they can make ludicrous assumptions about me and my companions for all you know.'

'Well, Magenta showed me her funky-looking birthmark today,' she countered, amazing herself with how self-assured she sounded. 'Care to explain that?'

Frank glared at her. _Oh, you cheeky little..._

Frank decided to give her the benefit of the doubt this time around. After all, he was incredibly impressed with her remarkable intuition, and it was highly likely she would have found out (or been told) sooner or later.

'Magenta showed you her birthmark?' He asked coolly.

'No,' she lied. She suddenly remembered she was supposed to be covering her tracks, and would be eternally grateful that she did. 'That isn't what I meant. I saw it. I unintentionally walked in on her changing clothes the other day.'

Frank sighed. 'I could tell you the truth, but I sincerely doubt you'll believe the truth, even if I told it to you. You might think we're _crazy!_ ' He hissed the last word, seizing her upper arms and shaking her vigorously just to emphasise the point.

'I never even thought you were sane,' she said dryly, although her heart was pounding now. 'Please tell me, Frank, I want to know.'

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, debating how best to articulate his response. 'How big is this universe?'

She blinked in surprise. 'What does that have to do with any-?'

'Just answer my question.'

She sucked her teeth confusedly. 'Quite.'

'And how many galaxies are in this quite-big universe?'

'A lot.'

'And how many planets are in all a-lot of these galaxies?'

'Even more...?'

'So, if there are even-more planets than the a-lot of galaxies within this quite-big universe...' Frank cocked an eyebrow. 'What do you think that means?'

Sprite's head was genuinely swimming with how lost she felt in this conversation, and she was almost sure it showed clearly on her face as Frank was trying extremely hard not to laugh. 'It means...that...' She shook her head and stammered helplessly. 'That I should've payed more attention in astronomy?' When Frank groaned and called her impossible, she defensively yelled, 'I don't know! How am I supposed to know what riddles you're talking in now, you might as well be from another...!'

A triumphant smirk slowly spread across Frank's face. Gradually (though far too quickly for Sprite's liking) the puzzle began to piece itself together.

An incredulous look slowly manipulated her eyebrows to raise and her jaw to relax. _Ohh..._ ' She stared at Frank blankly, who's eyes hadn't stopped glinting misheviously, for a few seconds before snapping out if her daze. 'Well, as if I'm going to believe that, what a crock of-!'

'Hey,' Frank interrupted with a warning glance before she swore at him again. 'You asked. I answered. There's nothing more to it.' I didn't expect you to believe me, even after I repeatedly said I hate liars,' Frank said causally while, for some reason, Sprite's face was begging to burn terribly, like a naughty child who'd just been caught stealing sweets. 'Especially not with those abhorrent films you brainless idiots like to watch.'

'I _am_ here!'

'What were you expecting?', Frank asked, completely ignoring her as he so often did. 'Little green man? Flying saucers? Three heads?'

'Shut up,' she muttered, haughtily turning her back on him once again. 'You obviously just think I'm a gullible little kid who isn't to be taken seriously, and if you'd rather me not know the truth, then that's fine. Anyway, I'm tired. I've had a long day, I just want to go to sleep.'

Frank said, 'Night then.' A few beats passed before Sprite realised he wasn't going to let her sleep alone. She merely huffed and burrowed down tightly under the covers like she always did. Within minutes, she was snoring softly.

Occasionally, she snuffled or whimpered, which Frank originally thought (after weeks of watching her sleep on the monitor) signled the start of a bad dream or simple unrest. He soon learnt, however, that she just never stopped being so inexplicably cute and endearing, even when she was sound asleep.

* * *

Frank was left to study her for as long as he wanted. He couldn't keep the malicious grin from his face now that she was unaware of her surroundings. He had a secret. A secret that no one, not even his housemates knew about. One that held the solution to perhaps the greatest ambition that had evaded of scientists throughout all of Transylvania for generations.

Ever since he was small, all Frank heard on the radio, television, newspaper, and any and all media text was the same unanswered question: Would inter-planetary intergration ever become a possibility?

One former 'recruit' (someone from his planet whom was sent to live on and study Earth for a short time, and report their findings on return), once heard an Englishmen refer to the Americans as neighbours from 'across the pond', and they had liked it so much that the term stuck. So, Transylvania's neighbours from 'across the sky' had been tirelessly searching for alien life forms for, perhaps, even longer than Frank's people had. Except, the Transylvanians had succeeded first, and in a lot less time.

Ever since then, finding more planets harbouring intelligent life to potentially live amongst had been the biggest dream of anyone that knew a shred of anything about Transsexual's scientific research department. They had yet to find anything, but if and when they did, proceedings would not be as easy as one may think.

If one wanted to emigrate to another planet, or even another galaxy if that ever did come to pass, one would have to recieve vaccinations against said planet's diseases in the same way a baby Earthling would need against MMR, or a dog would need before being able to safely go for walks. At this time, Earth was the only planet, to their knowledge, that could also sustain intelligent life. Albeit, the term was used loosely, but...

They knew more than enough about Earthly diseases to permanently relocate there , but, unfortunately, a large number remained currently incurable. And the authorities were not about to send thier most cherished and valued Transsexuals to a place where they might catch something and be killed. Therefore, in order for this groundbreaking idea to ever leave become more than a journalists last-resort, overdone news story, someone would have to create a vaccine.

Vaccines. Treatments. Antidotes. All of the above were plausible solutions to protecting and preserving other worldly life forms on thier quest to achieve worldwide legacy. But it was developing the vaccines that was the near-impossibly tricky part.

That's where Frank's project came in.

If he used an artificial human being, he could potentially cure any disease he wanted, create genetically perfect offspring for the entire world, develop an indestructible mutation to be implanted inside militarian soldiers. The possibilities were endless.

Except he didn't want to do that.

Frank had (without consulting anyone) immediately decided he was going to use his creation for his own instant gratification. It's what he deserved after flourishing in such a complex field after everyone else was too brainless to do it. The creation would live to look attractive, and to be fucked. No strings attached, amd certainly no ugly experiments to be carried out on it. Why would he want to play with something that's all dirty and used? That was disgusting.

And _that_ , unconventional conventionalists, was where his favourite little mouse came in.

The reason behind his rival scientist's reluctance to study effects of otherworldly diseases and the development of cures on the human body was that the majority of them die. The artificial creation of a Transylvanian-level immune system would be the pinnacle of scientific research in its entirety.

It would be easy enough to slip her the stuff necessary to introduce the symptoms necessary to carry out any and all tests he felt like running. He knew enough to make the substances tasteless, odourless, solvable, anything that might need doing to ensure undetected administration, Frank was more than prepared (and capable) to do it.

If, one day, he was seized by the overwhelming desire to study the effects of malnutrition on the human body as well as witnessing how dangerous sneezing could be for one with incredibly soft bones, there was nothing stopping him. He could feasibly do anything to her. Speed up or slow down metabolism, tamper with her menstrual cycle, send her paranoia through the roof or introduce obsessive compulsive behaviours.

Some physical ailments, he assumed, would be deflected in its own time by her own, feeble defence system. If that turned out to be the case, there'd be no need to re-visit that one again and could move on to a more evasive, advanced level of infection. If she showed no improvements or began to get worse, that was the time to step in with the possible solution. That could be anything - a pill, a liquid medicine, a piece of machinery, and if she survived long enough to test the really servers ones, perhaps even a surgery.

Of course, none of his curing methods had actually been proven. There was a high chance that none of them would even work. The entire thing was one big experiment, and if she did unfortunately expire, they'd just have to wait an indefinite amount of years before they made any more advancements. It was highly likely that Frank wouldn't actually live to see the successful treatment of most of the diseases. Not unless she pulled through.

If she survived through all of the known diseases, she'd come out the other side with an immune system that was unparalleled to every single person on this steaming hot shit of a planet. It was a real shame really, he so wished she could live long enough afterwards to experience the full effects of her near super-human immunities.

No, she had to go. It pained Frank slightly to think about, but he knew she'd understand. She was always willing to volunteer for the greater good.

They could take her blood, her stem cells, her entire network of bodily communications, cultivate, reverse engineer, perhaps clean up a bit here and there, and sooner or later, they'd have medication the monarchy itself so desperately yearned for.

Medications that, if administered to enough people, had the potential to create generations after generations of indestructible beings. Who knows what would happen then. Frank probably wouldn't live to see the full extent of the achievements they'd make, but he would go down in history and have his name remembered forever.

And of course, he'd never let anyone forget the selfless sacrifice, given over in the name of desperate, pure love for her guardian, of his wonderful, beautiful, soon-to-be legendary little mouse.

It would take a while. The full longevity of the process was impossible to estimate. He couldn't imagine the pain and suffering she'd have to go through, but fortunately for him, he wouldn't have to.

Frank was an incredibly careful planner, though. He was mindful not to run before he could walk and resolved to take it one day at a time.

With that thought in mind, he smiled as he joined the doomed girl beside him in her blissfully ignorant slumber.

* * *

 **So what'll it be  
Cornflakes or toast?  
Pills or a dose of radiation?**

I'll Make Cereal - cavetown

* * *

 **Medical malpractice is probably the thing that terrifies me the most in the entire world, so I really don't know why I'm doing this to myself.**

 **Note: completely irrelevant, but I recently realised their ship name would either be Frite or Spank. How fitting.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	10. Chapter Ten

**HOOOOOOOOO man it's been too long. I used to think I was halfway good at time-management until I tired to balance this along with everyday happenings and now I'm like lol nah.**

 **Once again, LandyShadow and Mr. Knightman and are behaving ever so graciously and being far too kind I think. Also, Hazel Ashwood is alive and well, you don't know how happy that makes me. I hope you enjoy this one and that your hand heals up soon!**

 **You may have also noticed that I have changed my cover recently (courtesy of Mr. Knightman). Thank you for letting me use your photograph, man. Frankie appreciates it.**

 **Okay I've rambled for far too long. Read on, rival scientists.**

* * *

Lessie's usual noisy wriggling pulled Frank blearily from his unconsciousness. Her face frequently contorted and she groaned deeply. Frank stayed still initially, watching her to make sure it wasn't just her usual sleep-talking. She settled down after a little while, and peaceful silence ensued.

Until pterodactyl shrieking tore from her throat with such vengeance that even Frank all but soiled himself, and nearly fell right off the bed. She arched her back and screamed again, writhing and kicking in an entirely hallucinogenic frenzy.

'Frankie?' Tears streamed down her reddened face from her tightly closed eyes as she called out in vain for him, desperate for help to escape whatever hellish nightmare she was experiencing. 'Frankie?!'

He debated whether to wake her or to let her ride it out. A cold, unfeeling response; as punishment, perhaps, for behaving like such a sly cat. She violently lashed out again and kicked _him_ instead, which was actually rather painful, he was ashamed to say. She was exceptionally small and slender, but she could fight like a wildcat when she wanted. She wriggled and moaned some more, the screams gradually getting louder and increasing in longevity as the dream intensified. 'Frankie, please!'

A door slammed shut urgently in the distance, followed by purposeful, evidently worried footsteps.

Her next desperate scream was shrill and horror-stricken enough to shatter glass, with one, final, terrified, ' _Frankie!'_

He grasped her shoulders firmly, gently shaking her, although mindful not to frighten her even further.

'Lessie!' He called her softly, quickly flapping an urgent hand at an extremely worried Magenta that had just burst through the door. He nodded quickly - _she's alright_ \- and Magenta left as quickly as she'd entered.

'Lessie, come on, darling, wake up. It's alright, flower, you're safe now, it's not real.'

A small amount of panic rose within him as she didn't show any signs of even hearing him, still thrashing around and screaming like Freddie Kruger had popped in for a good scare.

'Come on, lamb, you can do it. Be brave, my sweet, be brave.' She didn't thrash around so much now, and Frank took this as a positive sign. 'That's it...that's it...open your eyes for me, darling. Wake up now, it'll all be over soon.'

She went as still as a corpse for a few awfully tense moments. Nothing but hitched breathing and soft whimpers could be heard. Frank slowly raised an eyebrow - although to whom exactly, he wasn't sure. He tentatively reached out and carefully wiped a glistening tear away. Her eyes flew open with a huge gasp that made Frank lurch backwards in surprise. She sat bolt upright so quickly and sharply that they almost smacked heads, and immediately broke down in tears when she realised where she was.

She clung on to him for dear life and sobbed into his chest, shaking and crying hysterically.

'Oh, alright, darling, alright...shh...it's okay, it's all gone now...' He cooed to her softly, stroking her hair and gently rocking her in an attempt to calm her. 'You were dreaming...you were dreaming...try and calm down now, my darling, you're just fine.' He pressed his lips against her hot, damp forehead, murmuring, 'Hush now, lamb. Frankie's here...Frankie's here...'

She whimpered and soon relaxed against him with a shuddering sigh. Her entire body, and shallow, traumatised breaths were still trembling violently. She snuggled against him even closer than before, releasing her extremely tight grip from around his neck and moving to loosely encircle his middle instead.

They sat togething, in a tangle, on Frank's bed in complete silence. He rested his chin on top of her head protectively, and hummed softly to her as he continued to rock and caress her soothingly.

'My word, that one was a stinker.' Frank broke the silence with a quiet murmur. He was pleasantly surprised to find it made his troubled little mouse (tearfully) giggle, and gently prised her away to hold her at arms length. 'What was that about?'

She hung her head and purposely let her hair create a curtain between them. He squeezed her hands gently. 'Go on, darling, you can tell me. After all, it was only a dream.'

She took a deep, shaky breath and whispered, 'The tank.'

It hit Frank flike a freight train. He would've been less surprised to hear demonically possessed lobsters over that. Still whispering, she said, 'It's always about the tank.'

At a loss with what to do, quite floundering, Frank tilted her chin up ever so gently. Frowning, he cupped her rosy cheek and searched her eyes for any sign of dishonesty. There was none. Worriedly, he smiled and shook his head.

'Little one, I _really_ thought you'd be over that by now.'

Staring at her lap (or rather, _thier_ laps, as she hadn't moved from straddling him in her distress, and Frank was holding her there firmly), she chuckled humourlessly. Softly, she said, 'Yeah, well, I guess I'm just stubborn.'

Frank couldn't help smirking. 'Now _that_ I can't argue with.' Turning serious once again, he said, 'That is, perhaps, my fault. I may have been a tad...unfair to you last time we discussed that.'

Had someone tickled Sprite with a feather, she would have been knocked over by it. Her fear almost gone as quickly as if she'd been stabbed, she was only stunned. _How_...did that just happen?

She let her eyes become wide and glazed over. She feigned difficulty breathing and clutched her heart like she'd just won an Oscar or saw a cat get run over in the street.

'Doctor Frank-N-Furter, did you just... _apologise?!_ '

The look of increasing concern in his face instantly dropped, and he pushed her away playfully. 'Oh my God, no seriously, what's the time? What's today's date? Have you got a pen and paper?'

Childishly, he poked his tongue out at her and firmly squeezed her shoulders. Though, er,' she continued in a significantly less teasing tone, clearing her throat lightly. 'You're still not going to let me forget about it, are you?' Smiling, he shook his head. 'No, thought not,' she whispered, fiddling with her hair as she always did when she felt awkward or nervous.

Maintaining intense eye contact with her, with kindness and compassion reflected within his own, he gently reminded her, 'It was only a dream.'

'Except it wasn't, was it?' She snapped, and _wham_ , instantly hung her head and shrank within herself, wringing her hands and chewing on her lip nervously. She was fully anticipating him to become extremely angry or nasty, perhaps even hit her to perform another, more violent physicality towards her as he certainly hadn't shied away from doing so in the past.

Despite thier current situation being light-hearted and sweet, Sprite never fully relaxed around Frank, and probably never would again. He was incredibly good at hiding what he was truly feeling, perhaps even to himself, at times, and the slightest thing (no matter how unintentional or innocent) could instantly set him off.

The worst thing was, Sprite realised that if anyone knew how Frank made her feel and how herself and the others had conditioned themselves to act around him, they would immediately come to the conclusion that Frank was abusing them. Controlling, manipulative behaviour, degrading, threatening, guilting and even attacking the abusee. Which, at this moment, happened to be her.

She was more than aware of her current situation, and certainly didn't need anyone telling her she needed to get out. They all needed to, if they ever wanted a chance at a normal life again. The others, at least they had half a chance. They were so much more braver than she, more self-assured and experienced to independently take care of themselves if the opportunity to leave ever did come about. Unfortunately - through no one's fault but her own - the same could not be said for Sprite.

She'd just have to accept that she'd be playing a different ball game daily, perhaps even hourly on a particularly bad day. Accept that she'd never quite know what Frank was truly like, and to take the risk of being around him every day, in favour of living a live that was, albeit, free, but seized so suffocatingly by extreme paranoia that would kill her as surely as if Frank had murdered her himself. And, most importantly, most tragically, and most crushingly, accept that she'd never truly know whether he loved her as unconditionally and irrevocably as she loved him.

Sprite and her mother came into money when she had been around the age of eleven. One of the first things her mother suggested (and, what would turn out to be the only thing Sprite and her mother agreed on) was to change her surname. Sprite never liked her surname, even before all of this, because it was the only infuriatingly permanent tie she had to her estranged father. She didn't have anything to do with him, and he certainly didn't care at all about her, is why should she have to bear his name?

Smith. Celeste Smith. Generic, far too common, and to a recently wealthy adolescent who thought she was cool, in dire need of a little pizazz. Now, of course, Sprite wished that she had waited until she was a little more mature to make the desicion herself so she wouldn't have ended up with something so ridiculous. In the same way that adults are embarrassed by thier old social media screen names, except strikingly different because those immature names could be changed.

At the ripe old age of eleven years and six months, Celeste Smith had transformed into Celeste Sanjati. Her reasoning? Sanjati was the Croatian form of the verb 'to dream'. That's what she had a lot of, and certainly didn't want to stop doing, especially since her elders were reaching that stage where they thought it was helpful and appropriate to frequently instruct, 'it's time you buck up your ideas, young lady, and get your head out of the clouds'. She also thought it was very pretty.

Amazingly, it was almost as if someone up there knew that, later on in her obscene shit-show of a life, she'd have to use that mentality in abundance. Dreamer by name, dreamer by nature. She couldn't go far - no, not far at all, she'd condemned herself eternally here now - but she could always dream.

Dream that she hadn't been dropped into a life she never asked for. Dream that she had had enough strength to absolve her curiosity and lack of integrity towards the alcohol before it got too late. Dream that she hadn't strayed a foot away from that God-dammed car. And above all else, dream that she had just done the sensible thing, just for once, and left that fucking house when her better judgment told her to.

She covered her face, sighing as tears brimmed in her eyes after that freight train of regret slammed into her out of nowhere. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so disrespectful, I know you're only trying to help but I - it's just that I-.' She sighed again, though it was more of a hiss the second time. 'I'm still finding it difficult to adjust-.'

Frank, with a look of deep understanding, gently shushed her and pressed a finger against her lips. She had to concentrate very hard to not go cross-eyed at the tip of the claw - space-age chrome was the new vintage, velvet red, apparently - hovering in front of her nose, which she actually found really funny, in an obscenely inappropriate sort of way.

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' he murmured, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear and lightly scraping her cheek instead. 'I know, baby. I know.'

'Just for the sake of the argument,' she said, although Sprite was happier now and leaning into his hand, 'please let me explain that this - _all_ of this - is having an atrocious effect on me, one that I clearly can't deal with on my own, and I feel like anyone else would, as you say, be more-or-less over it by now. I don't feel strong at all, I literally only ever cry in front of you, I can't seem to do anything independently...' she heaved another troubled sigh. 'I just feel like I'm letting everyone down.'

Wordlessly, Frank took her in his arms again, his grip gentle, yet very firm. He kissed the top of her head lightly, and inhaled deeply; savouring the clean, almost spicy scent of her hair. His all-time favourite feature of any person he'd ever seen. Although he needn't have told her (for she already knew) he often did so anyway when she was having a bad day, it even just to see her smile.

'I realise I'm obligated to vigorously reassure you that none of that is true,' Sprite felt his deep, distinctive voice rumble through his chest. 'But part of me wants to wholeheartedly agree with you, because that means you'll always have to come and find me whenever you feel that way, so I can cheer you up.'

Sprite did her best to stifle a giggle - he could charm a smile out of her, even when she thought she'd never smile again - and with a sickening jolt, realised she hadn't re-concealed her birthmark. It was staring at her in all its pinky-red immodesty, and had it been able to talk, she was almost certain it would be taunting and teasing her.

The way Magenta acted when she'd shown her it was very worrying. Very worrying indeed. Not only did Magenta posses a uniquely-shaped birthmark that was nearly identical to Sprite's, (which was exceptionally weird and unnerving in itself) she also seemed scandalised by the very idea. If Magenta reacted like that, the girl who was hard as nails and not phased by anything, Sprite didn't even want to think about what Frank would do. Evidently, he hadn't seen it, and she was determined to keep it that way.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes, mumbling noises of fatigue. It worked perfectly - as terrifying as Frank sometimes was, it did fill her with a triumphant glee that she evidently had him wrapped around her little finger - and he had them both settle down immediately, in the very same position as before.

Listening to Frank's steady heartbeat was relaxing, but unfortunately, not enough for her at that time. She shunned herself for what she was about to do, screwed her eyes shut and asked, 'Frank?'

'Hmm?'

'Oh, God, this is - this is so embarrassing,' she sighed heavily, 'I can't believe I'm doing this...'

She detected no trace of judgment in his prompting. 'What is it, darling?'

'Can you - can you sing?'

She hadn't dared to open her eyes yet, but braved a small glance up after a beat of silence. Frank was looking down at her with an expression of confused surprise, albeit, but mostly his eyes were shining and grinning from ear to ear in what someone braver than Sprite might call a little bit of endeaarance and a whole lot of adoration.

'Well, I can if you'd like, lamb - though Columbia certainly doesn't think I'm any good,' he couldn't resist teasing her just a little bit by pinching one of her excessively flushed cheeks. 'I can only think of one that I think you'll like. It's sort of a traditional lullaby from home, and it's quite often the first song a native Transylvanian will hear.' He paused, cocking a smug eyebrow as he smirked down at her. 'You know, the fictional galaxy, containing planets that don't exist, which sustain billions of lives that aren't real because I told you a pack of lies.'

She lightly scoffed and shifted into a more comfortable position before Frank obliged.

It was strange, the scenario. That was for many reasons. One, a nineteen-year-old had asked to be sung to sleep like a child. Two, Frank's (soft) singing voice was incredibly surprising, nothing like Sprite'd expected, - tuneful, delicate and strong - but exceedingly effective, and Sprite became drowsy almost immediately. And three, the song was so exceptionally strange, nothing like she'd ever heard before. Charming and cute, but somehow haunting and beautiful at the same time. It had a way of relaxing her right to her core, but also gave her the worst goosebumps she'd ever had and a strange, foreign, yet unconditionally welcome feeling of sickness, derived from a tight, floaty sensation, exuding from somewhere deep inside her.

She needed to sleep, but she couldn't think of anything worse, for she wanted to listen to the ethereal music and experience these strange feelings all night long.

To Sprite, falling asleep felt like it took hours, but in reality it was all of ten seconds between the first words out of Frank's mouth and when he ran his long nails through her hair. After which, she dropped off immediately.

Quite literally, before Frank croon the first two lines, his little mouse was sound asleep.

* * *

The infuriatingly oblivious girl had just left. And Magenta was stunned.

That was not possible. What she had just seen, had to have been her eyes playing tricks on her.

Except that didn't make any sense.

Magenta, doubting herself (and her sanity) for the very first time in her life, had pulled up the footage (audio-only, thanks to the impromptu spy techniques) on the television monitor - poorly spray painted an awful, tacky shade of bright pink by you-know-who - and watched the encounter back, just to make sure she really hadn't been hallucinating.

It was real. It was happening. The scrawny, timid, human girl possessed the mark of one of the highest social circles in the entire galaxy of Transylvania. The circle which, at the time of the trio's departure, held some of the most iconic, distinctive and legendary figures in Transylvanian history, perhaps ever.

Columbia was sleeping soundly under a mountain of brightly-coloured (and questionably patterned) blankets, Sprite had gone to bed and Furter was probably working. Therefore, there was only one thing left to do.

'Riff?' Magenta called her sibling's name while she was still running along the second-floor corridor, knowing that her brother had exceptional hearing and would probably have been woken from a slumber by such a far-away noise. She briskly descended two flight of stairs and, while urgently calling her brother's name again, hauled open a trap door, leading to the deepest, dankest corner of the eerie household.

This was a floor that not even Columbia was aware of, housing only two things: her poor, desolate, viciously mis-treated brother's sleeping quarters (which were in a perpetual state of the worst conditions Magenta had ever been exposed to) and, a gruesome, rusty, foul-smelling storage locker, built-for-purpose to temporarily store any and all excess from every kind of ungodly happenings that, unfortunately, went wrong. What became of the haphazardly dismembered limbs, both human and animal entrails and all manner of vile, rotting, unidentifiable organisms, Magenta didn't know. She had decided very early on, that she didn't ever want to.

The other two females in the house were blissfully unaware of the gross misconduct occurring every day under their own roof, and both assumed Frank had Riff-Raff bed down in a thoroughly sterilised and disinfected area of the laboratory.

What dozy prats.

Magenta pushed open the heavy, gothic door with a groan-rattle-clank (still bringing vivid depictions of something straight out of a Bram Stoker novel, even after all this time) to find the man she'd been searching for lying flat on his back against the rotting wooden boards that served as his bed, having not even removed his shoes, staring dejectedly at the damp, mouldy ceiling.

'Riff, I need -' she sucked in a surprised breath through her teeth, remarking, 'ooh, it's freezing in here!', shivering as she adjusted her shawl to cover more of her upper body. Her brother struggled into a sitting position, raising a concerned, though not entirely bothered, blond eyebrow at her unprecedented outburst. 'Riff, something's happened. Something very serious.' She spoke calmly and authoritatively, trying to imitate the tone Riff often took with her when he endeavoured (and almost always succeeded) to calm her. 'It's about the little, fair girl; the master's favourite obsession.'

He did seem to become slightly more interested by this piece of information. If only demonstrated by a slight straitening of his frightfully curved spine, but it was a reaction, nonetheless.

'Go on,' he prompted in his sophisticated drawl. Seemingly always originating from right at the back of his throat, and never failing to sent a delightful shiver up Magenta's spine every time.

'It's - I - well, I just don't think she should reside here any longer.'

'Nor I. Although, regrettably, I was the only one to see this from the outset.' He sighed, perhaps realising how cold and inhospitable his usual pain was making him act towards his most beloved, and patted the hard surface beside him.

A coat of green stuff came away on his hand. Magenta, grimacing (and trying very hard not to physically urge), politely chose to stay standing. 'What has it done now?' Riff asked the question with a certain air of disassociation, and probably hadn't even realised he'd automatically referred to the girl as an 'it', like a dog or a chair. 'That last update I received entailed that it had taken it upon itself to commandeer a hefty amount of Furter's drink of choice, and that was after it thought it could get away with sneaking into my laboratory.'

Riff took full ownership of the laboratory when just the two siblings were in earshot. They both, also, referred to their master by his surname, like a Bond villain. Except extremely less popular.

'No, no, it's nothing like that. _She_ hadn't done anything,' Magenta put an unnecessary amount of stress into the pronoun, glaring at her male counterpart as she did so. 'At least, not that I've heard of. Furter threatened her with something-or-other, I don't know. It was bad, though. I think. She also has no idea that we both know, I'd assume the guilt's working its magic well enough. I seriously doubt she'd be stupid enough to try something like that again. It's what she _hasn't_ done that concerns me.'

Riff blinked, confused. 'Elaborate.'

'Swear you won't tell? Only, I don't think Furter knows.'

'Of course.'

Magenta sighed again, for what felt like the thousandth time today. 'I don't know how, I don't know why, but she has the royal crest on her ankle.'

Extremely uncharacteristically, Riff's features animated in shock. 'How can that-?'

'Please, let me finish, brother, before I lose my nerve.' She pressed her well-shaped, deep purple lips together solemnly. 'It's the same as mine. Near enough, anyway. She says an earth-dwelling skin doctor told her it was hyper...hypo...something. The word evades me now. She has no idea what it is, certainly not what it means.'

'If it's similar to yours, that can only mean-.'

She nodded, cutting him off. 'It's one of the highest. Had she developed on _our_ planet, she'd be entitled to servants, suitors, houses, as many as she might like and all of the most prestigious and extravagant quality. And before you ask,' Riff's upper lip twitched and she read his mind immediately. 'There's no way I could have misinterpreted one that looks like yours.'

Every single soul within Transylvania had a unique birthmark. It was artificially introduced eons ago, created using genetic engineering; its purpose was to clearly mark each inhabitant with a symbol which distinctly reflects one's societal status.

Frank and Magenta - and, she supposed, Sprite now, too - had near identical 'birthmarks'. Magenta's was on her collarbone, Frank had his on the sole of his left foot ('horrible, dastardly thing, who was authorised to curse me with that unsightly blemish?') and Sprite, mysteriously, had her's on her ankle.

There was no way Magenta could have simply noticed a less important one and mistakenly attributed it to something else, as the symbol was too familiar. Nothing like Riff Raff's for example.

His appeared on the inside of the ring finger of his dominant hand, depicted as a small burning flame. Minimalist, secretive and religiously symbolic enough to represent a person from the lowest tier of the nine that made up the corrupt pyramid of Transylvanian hierarchy.

'Why have you only just noticed it?' Riff wasn't sure when it had happened, but he was suddenly standing attentively.

'She's been covering it,' Magenta explained. 'She uses makeup.' Riff looked more scared than Magenta had ever thought possible, and she hastily added, 'Not on purpose! She couldn't possibly be a spy, she's too dim-witted. She doesn't realise what it is, that much is obvious.'

'Well...what are we to do?'

'What _can_ we do?' Both siblings were at a rather thick brick wall at this point. 'It's not hurting anyone, and Furter evidently doesn't know, so if we do anything other than absolutely nothing, we'll be making everything worse.'

An ear-splitting scream caused the both to jump out of their skin. 'Oh, fucking hell, what _now?_ ' Magenta shot an apologetic glance at her brother - who was rather hoping she'd stay the night - and dashed off. Her unquenchable need to help people would be his beautiful sister's ultimate demise. Riff Raff could feel it.

For now, though, during another night alone, the man had a lot of thinking to do. Mostly, about how he would initiate a very important conversation with his master. One, about a matter most prevalent, that had to be taken up immediately.

* * *

Sprite woke up before Frank, which was abnormal.

Blearily opening her eyes to the pleasantly bright, warm sum bean streaming directly on to her pillow (which, as Frank would have noticed had be been conscious, set a golden glint in her vivid blue eyes, shining and glittering most exquisitely), and being gently coaxed out of her incredibly restful slumber by the serene chorus of pretty birds and thier early morning singing provided an awakening most peaceful.

The pair had separated during the night, and Sprite couldn't help herself but to grin like a fool at the acknowledgment of Frank's outstretched arm draped loosely across her middle, still craving physical contact after the much-preferred cuddling just became sweaty-ugly-I-shall-suffocate-very-soon-I-should-think hot.

Sprite turned carefully to observe Frank, whom was fast asleep. He slept in a face full of slap, it would seem. Ludicrously long eyelashes touching his cakey, pale cheeks as he breathed deeply. Not a scrap had rubbed off, or even smudged. And how could his skin possibly stay so clear and smooth if he rarely (if ever) washed any of the thick product off? Here Sprite was, eating one square of chocolate and turning into an allergy-ridden Dalmatian. Life was just so unfair.

It was almost emotional, watching Frank sleep. He was so peaceful and relaxed compared to now he normally was when awake: constantly stressed out, worried, annoyed, working far too hard. Sprite often wondered whether the amount of pressure Frank was under contributed, at times, to his awful behaviour. Perhaps she should learn to be more lenient with him, as he always felt bad about upsetting her afterwards.

She concluded that from then on, she'd make a conscious effort to endeavour to relax and please him, just to make the workloads easier to bear. It might also make things easier for everyone else, as Frank was less likely to fly off the handle if he wasn't as cranky and irritable all the time.

With that thought in mind, she reached out to stroke his hair.

This always relaxed her to the point where she could fall asleep almost anywhere, and also reminded her that she'd never asked Frank what helped to calm _him_ down or what he liked to do to wind down. She'd make do with this for now, and endeavour to find out later.

She tenderly ran her fingers delicately through his untidy mane, which was even thicker and softer than it looked. She did her best to recreate how Frank usually interacted with her hair, including lightly scratching her head, sometimes expertly massaging it if she asked, and gently tugging handfuls upwards from her scalp. The increased movement of his hair caused the unusual scent that seemed to roll off the man in sensual, intoxicating waves to only grow thicker and heavier. She might've been enjoying this more than he was, and got rather absorbed in the peaceful sensation of playing with Frank's hair. Apparently, it would seem, pulling an ebony strand taught and watching it spring back into a tight curl was heavily entertaining.

Sprite decided that she'd better leave him to his slumber, as Sprite suspected he was severely sleep-deprived on top of everything else. She kissed her hand and stroked his hair one last time, for good luck, and quietly got up to leave.

Warm, gentle fingers curled around her wrist. She turned back to see Frank, now awake, some happy features hidden by the folds of the soft pillow he rested on, bright eyes regarding her adoringly with the usual wide (if incredibly sleepy) gleaming smile.

'Don't go,' he said in a husky rumble, still thick with sleep that set her insides thrashing. 'I was enjoying that.'

She didn't need asking twice. She immediately resumed her place beside him, climbing back in carefully. He moved over to lay half on her and half on the bed, resting his head on her chest after peppering tender kisses between her breasts.

He settled down and she petted his hair again. She genuinely, dare she say it without tempting fate, felt tranquil and full of comfort for the first time since she arrived here, and found herself holding back tears as Frank pecked her cheek with a quiet little smile before arranging himself just so on her chest again, letting out a blissful sigh.

Imagine if it was like this all the time. Absolutely golden.

'Lessie?'

She tried to respond, but her voice couldn't get through the lump in her throat. Frank sighed contentedly again, nuzzling into her chest. 'I think I love you.'

Her stomach dropped. Perhaps plummeted would be a better word.

She felt like a iron fist had driven into her gut, the blood pounded in her ears and she felt herself flushing scarlet. She didn't cease her affectionate administrations with his hair, although her hands were now quaking.

'I don't think that's true, Frankie,' she whispered. She feigned bashful modesty, instead of the devastation that settled within her.

 _No, you know it's true_ , she reminded herself sternly. _You just don't want to admit it. Because it terrifies you. Because_ _ **he**_ _terrifies you._ ' She closed her eyes to compose herself, but couldn't stop a few hot tears from escaping. _What are you going to do now, now that you've selfishly allowed this deranged psychopath to develop feelings for you? If you'd left when you had the chance, this wouldn't even have had the potential to happen. You certainly can't even think about leaving now. Not ever again. It would bend this unstable man even further than his obviously unspeakably traumatic existence already has. If you left now, it would break him._

Frank chuckled, jolting her back to reality. The nightmarish version, thereof. Tightening his grip around her middle, her mind conjured up one last thought: _God help the rest of us if he breaks._

Keeping his eyes closed, he continued. 'I knew you wouldn't believe me,' he said matter-of-factly. 'I didn't expect you to, either. I know you've been played for a fool in the past, but I'm prepared to do whatever it takes and wait as long as is necessary to prove to you, my beloved little mouse, that it's all true.'

'I don't think you know what you're saying,' she responded, trying to sound coy and playful to mask the unadulterated devastation running amok inside of her. 'I think you're just tired.'

Frank chuckled again. Except (and she wasn't even unnerved, for she knew this would happen) it was a low, enticingly seductive sound. She could hear the smirk as his voice as - after nipping at her collarbone, an area which always betrayed her every single time - he drawled, 'Perhaps I need some help waking up, then.'

Gripping her ankles and pulling her down the bed while she shrieked with laughter, crawling on top of her with a wicked smile and, with a skill and precision that could only reflect years of experience, stripping her naked and trapping her between his legs, they began the day in the same way they ended most of their previous ones.

* * *

Later, when she was washed, dressed, halfway through a particular boring text explaining centripetal force and trying to ignore the way everything from the waist down burned and ached terribly, she threw the papers to the floor in a fit of hopeless frustration, buried her head in the wooden desk, and wretchedly sobbed.

 _What the fuck do I do now?_

* * *

 **A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain  
Softly blows over Lullaby Bay,  
It fills the sails of boats that are waiting,  
Waiting to sail your worries away.**

 **It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain,  
And your boat waits down by the quay.  
The winds of night sdo softly are sighing,  
Soon they will fly your troubles to sea.**

 **So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain,  
Wave goodbye to cares of the day,  
And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain  
Sail far away from Lullaby Bay.**

 **So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain,  
Wave goodbye to cares of the day,  
And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain  
Sail far away from Lullaby Bay.**

Husabye Mountain - _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_

* * *

 **Okay I know this is supposed to be serious and everything, but all I can think about is Cranky Frankie and I'm really laughing help.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**And we are back, dear readers.**

 **I've been slacking on thanking my reviewers, so I'll fix that right now:**

 **LandyShadow: My old faithful, I love you and I'm so glad you're still thoroughly enjoying the story. I really hope you enjoy this one just as much as the rest!**

 **Luna: Oh my, you had a field day with this! I couldn't quite believe it when I saw all the notifications! Thank you so much for your glowing reviews, you don't know how much that means.**

 **Mr. Knightman: Apparently I make an obscene amount of typos, and you're the only one who notifies me about them. From one grammar police to another, thank you!**

 **Guest: I'm so glad you enjoyed the first chapter, and I hope you'll continue to read more in time. Thank you for your encouragement! *Baymax hug***

 **Hazel Ashwood: I'm leaving dedications for you even when you can't be here! This is somewhere between a virtual sympathy card and a stalker confession - whatever the conclusion, I'm thinking of you and you're welcome back any time.**

 **I present to you the latest instalment of Alma's late night emotional ramblings, and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

'He's made the same empty claims countless time before. He still says it to me now,' Columbia explained as she poured her numb female counterpart a cup of floral tea. 'I really wouldn't worry about it, Bambi. You'll just stress yourself out over nothing. It doesn't mean anything.'

Sprite felt a pang of indigence flare up in her stomach. Defensively, she countered, 'Well, it might!'

Columbia batted her poorly applied false eyelashes at her, confusedly exasperated. 'You were bawling your eyes out two seconds ago because-.'

'I know,' Sprite groaned helplessly, putting her head on the table in defeat. 'It freaked me out big time and I - I came to you because I thought you might understand.' Columbia frowned slightly. She needed more of an explanation. 'You might understand what it's like. To be, sort of...addicted to him.'

Columbia sighed, removing her hat that she wore all the time, even indoors, and giving her hair a good scratch. Evidently, table manners were not the dancer's forte.

'Of _course_ I know what that's like.' She offered a small smile, leaning across the table to squeeze the girl's colourless, freezing hand. 'I was just like you, Tink. I've been there, done that, bought the T-Shirt. I know _exactly_ how you're feeling. I've been feeling the same way for a very long time now. Magenta did mention to me that she was extremely proud of how I handled your arrival, and Frankie's instant attachment to you, but honestly I was just glad to have someone else take his attention away from me. Give me a little break, y'know?'

Sprite nodded. 'I feel like...like he could do any number of bad things: he could hit me as many times as he liked, he could emotionally manipulate one of my loved ones, he could literally murder someone right in front of me.' Her breath unexpectedly hitched, both at the uncensored truth behind the statement she was about to make, and because she'd accidentally reminded herself that the latter of the examples almost did come to pass. 'And I'd still find a way to forgive him.'

'Yep,' Columbia said simply. 'He's got his hooks in us weaklings pretty deep.'

A few beats of thick silence passed.

'I don't think you're weak at all,' Sprite mumbled. 'I think you're the strongest person I've ever known. To have been going through what has driven me to hysteria so many times, for years longer than I have, and to still be as optimistic and happy as you are...' Sprite trailed off, sighing in admiration and a hint of jealousy. 'That takes an immense amount of courage.'

Columbia didn't know what immense meant. Sprite changed the adjective to large and asked her another question. 'What's your story, Columbia? How did you end up here? And - if you don't mind me asking - why are you _still_ here?'

The sparkly one chuckled humourlessly at her lap. 'You know,' she noted, 'you're the first person to ever ask me that question. You don't know how long I've waited to be able to tell someone.'

* * *

A typical Saturday night for a girl of such a prominent, infamous circle.

Accepting an impromptu lift from a friend of a friend of a cousin of a former university lecturer who had heard crazy rumours about these parties, and even crazier ones about her, whom had agreed to wait on her all night in exchange for riding the trademark gold, sparkly coat-tails of an increasingly notorious groupie so he could brag about walking in the door.

The spunky, headstrong, damaged red head would never really know why she accepted the deal. She usually couldn't stand people using her as an access all areas pass or a get out of jail free card. She would've been invited to the party by three different guests anyway, and probably the host himself, but instead she chose to take pity on a high-school dropout twice her age and braved the embarrassment of rocking up on the arm of a stranger instead of Axl Rose.

The event was pretty standard. Heaps of fun, obviously, but nothing too outrageous or unexpected. Half the guest list got spiked, even more had sex pretty much anywhere they could (herself, four times: the pool, the couch, the bathroom sink, and finally the bed. A new lover each time, of course) and even more permanently damaged extortionately priced home decorations.

Vomit, saliva and spunk. Just everywhere. All over everything. Fucking disgusting,

She lost her 'friend' not five minutes after stepping over the threshold, and decided to step outside for a smoke around about the same time they thought it would be a fantastic idea to jump from the helicopter into the pool. She was deathly afraid of heights, and water, though never told anyone that - never told anyone anything, really - for her only _other_ fear in this world was having others think of her as weak.

She was still young, though more than capable of looking after and making her own name for herself. She didn't ask for this lifestyle, not necessarily. She wasn't complaining at all, it just wasn't something she'd planned for. She had learnt, after a few eventful years in the thick of the groupie scene, that all the best things never are.

This way of life had pounced on her rather unexpectedly (leaving home at fifteen to the distress of her mother who had her suspicions but couldn't do a thing about it, having three serious relationships with star-studded rock gods twice, sometimes three times her age by the time she turned seventeen and being exposed to every type of drug, sexual activity and criminal offence in the book; an ongoing process, at nineteen-and-three-quarters) didn't mean she wasn't going to aim for the best.

They often light-heartedly teased her. They thought it was funny to call her Sable Maddox after how viciously she'd thrown herself into building her reputation. They didn't mean anything nasty by it, but it still got to her. She didn't want to be like _them_. She wanted to be like herself. To create her own identity, separate and instantly iconic in comparison to all the others. To make once-in-a-lifetime memories, to reminisce on the utmost honour and privilege of forming friendships with these legendary creators, and to have as much guilt-free fun as possible while she was doing it.

You only live once, as they say.

Crushing the butt of her first cigarette under her peep toe stiletto boot, she lit another one, taking the time to admire the blue, wispy tendrils slowly disappearing within the stars.

Unusually bright, tonight, she thought.

Pulling her gold, sparkly jacket tighter around herself against the bitter winter night, she shivered slightly and thought about calling this one a night and heading home. Or, perhaps catch wind of another, probably better party and crash that one instead.

She decided on a third cigarette before she made a decision. Holding it between her teeth, she flicked her lighter relentlessly to no avail. It had been working fine until now - shaking it proved there to be sufficient fluid - but, after what felt like hours, she cried out in annoyance.

'You'll never light it like that.'

She jumped a mile, turning sharply to address (and rudely give a piece of her mind) to whoever had the audacity to sneak up on her like that.

A tall, dark stranger on a dimly lit street in the middle of a drunken night out. Quite a scary scenario, but she wasn't phased. She carried pepper spray, a knife and a mace gun in her bag at all times, and was not afraid nor inexperienced enough to use them.

Glaring at the man (another emerging British glam rock star apparently, they bred like rabbits), she went to speak but was cut off. Not by words, but a gesture: a slow rotation of the first finger.

It couldn't have been more mundane. It couldn't have been more simple - a five year old could do that - but for some reason she was mesmerised. 'Turn around.' The shadow spoke again, snapping her out of her daze. His voice now carried a hint of exasperation, as if he thought she was stupid. 'Face away from the wind.'

She was really frustrated when it worked. She had hoped it wouldn't. She needed a reason to regain control over this mysterious person, as, after barely speaking three sentences and not even showing his face, for some never-before-seen reason, he was having a slight effect on her.

She scoffed begrudgingly and took a long drag. Oh. It was hash, apparently.

'Why are you out here all alone when all your friends are in there?' It seemed this man was quite nosy, and clearly didn't plan on leaving her alone any time soon.

'They're not my friends,' she explained flatly. He still hadn't moved from the shadows, but she could sense that he was smirking.

'What tempted you?' She rolled her eyes with another drag, although, he spoke with such a rich, deep, fruity accent that she couldn't quite justify asking him to shut up and leave her alone. He sounded like someone from Queen or The Beatles. Except alive, and sexier. 'Was it free booze? Drugs? Sex?'

'How is that any of your business?'

'Just trying to make conversation, dear,' he replied innocently. 'It's common courtesy to entertain a gorgeous young woman, don't you know.'

'Fuck off,' she spat, desperately grappling to maintain her tough, hard-to-crack outer shell, yet feeling herself loosing the battle with every passing moment. 'I should be asking you the same thing,' she huffed stormily. 'What the fuck are you doing, hanging around in the dark to flirt with estranged people, that's creepy.'

'Not if they flirt back.'

She squeaked in indignation, glaring at him with a deeply furrowed brow and an appalled slack-jawed mouth. 'I am not-!'

'Look, sparky, I'm sorry.' The figure chuckled and put his hands up, palms flat in a stance of mock-surrender. 'Honestly, my brain was leaking out my ears from _boredom_ so I came out for a walk. It's nice out here. Not as much light pollution as the big smoke. I enjoy seeing the stars.'

Had anyone joined thier fellow guest outside at that precise moment, they wouldn't have believed this girl was the same person. Because she was smiling.

A huge, beaming smile was painted onto her porcelain-doll like face. Hearing him talk was like listening to soft music, and he certainly articulated like a poet. It was the first conversation she'd had in a while that she actually enjoyed, and hadn't wished for it to be over in the first two minutes. He seemed to know exactly what was going on in her mind, and presented it to her in the most pleasant, charming way.

'And then I saw you,' the deep, rich, velvety voice continued, snapping her out of her daze, 'from across the road, actually. Do you always go out in that get up?' To her pleasant surprise, he snorted a laugh. 'Could probably see you from space. We might have to start calling you firefly.'

She blurted out, 'Do you want to hang out?'

She could sense he was smirking again. 'I beg your pardon, doll?'

Ah, shit. Why did she say that? Never in her life had she succumbed to another's advances. She didn't get persuaded. She did the persuading.

Except he hadn't even tried. He'd just spoken to her as any other friendly person would have done to pass the time. Somehow, he'd tapped into the deepest, most secretive emotions of hers, and it was this feat that immediately sealed her fate.

She was gone. She wasn't coming back. Probably not ever again. Not now she had someone with a certain degree of sophistication and gentlemanly class about him, while simultaneously managing to exude a sense of temptation and danger that lurked in the background like a persistently noisy fly.

Caught in her own trap, she mumbled, 'I want to stay with you. Let's go somewhere better than this cesspool. Together.' Whispering at the floor now, she said, 'Please.'

Her heart leapt in her throat when she heard him walking towards her. She hadn't dared to look up from the floor yet, so she listening to the pleasantly crisp sound of heels (?) on Tarmac. A soft creak of shifting leather preluded an incredibly gentle, soft hand under her chin, tilting her burning chin up to look this man in the face.

Oh.

Oh my.

She blinked, rooted to the spot in petrified awe. Stupidly, she said, 'You remind me of David Bowie.'

'Now?'

She shrieked a giggle. 'No! No, I meant more like...like Ziggy Stardust or The Goblin- oh, you know what I mean!'

His nose wrinkled when he smiled, which she instantly became obsessed with. He tickled her under her chin - tilted at an obscene angle. As if she wasn't below average height already, her potential lover had to have a thing for six inch stilettos. He ran a hand through her haphazardly hacked-here-shaved-there-poorly-dyed-everywhere hair, which completely made her lose her train of thought again. 'Your favourite, is he? Does that explain your choice of hair colour?'

She nodded enthusiastically. 'So are we going to screw soon? I'm getting kind of antsy.'

 _Holy shit. Where did that come from?_

He hooted with laughter. 'I admire thst spark, firefly, but it wouldn't do any good to take a beautiful girl home without knowing her name,' he smirked again, winking at her, which set her insides thrashing. 'Now, would it?'

* * *

Columbia, three weeks later, was carefully lowering herself into the hot bathwater. She winched and gritted her teeth in pain, clinging on to the sides of the tub until her knuckles turned white. She settled into a sitting position safely (which was more than could be said for last time), and focused on relaxing.

The sex was rough. Very rough. She thought she preferred it like that, but that man was like a machine. A sparkly, taunting, feral machine.

'You liked it the first time,' Frank had accused after she demanded to be un-cuffed and fled the scene crying. Frank hadn't been too apologetic, remorseful, or anything really. Just sitting there on the end of the bed with a cigarette, cock-blocked and sulking. 'I never knew you were this sensitive.'

Watching in despair as the blood tainted the water for the third time that week, Columbia found herself to be quite forgiving.

 _It won't last long_ , she thought. _The novelty will wear off soon and he'll revert back to that charming, witty, beautiful man I fell in love with._

 _Love? Three weeks? Jesus, Columbia_.

With that rose-tinted thought in mind, she slid under the water to wash her hair.

* * *

Columbia, four and a half months later, found herself eye-level with a rat engaging in an intense staring contest with her from its dank, dark shelter within the unsightly crack in the wall.

Four and a half months of the dreamiest, happiest, most celestial experience of her life. She was right; the roughness had toned down eventually, and never had she known that making love could could so beautiful. Never had she known that another person (especially a male) could take care of and protect her as wonderfully as he did. Never had she known a relationship with anyone could transpire into more than just a hook-up.

Whisked away. That shimmering, ethereal ball of heaven-sent, blessed ecstasy had shattered more violently and frighteningly than the pretty picture of the dusk-bathed countryside that had plummeted from the wall with the force of impact, smashing glass almost drowned out by the sickening _thunk_ of delicate flesh and frail human bones on lethally solid kitchen tiles.

Frank had hit her.

He'd swung for her so hard in the side of the head that she didn't remember hitting the floor. Her head began to ache and throb as her ears began to ring, disassociating her from the sensation of Frank, helplessly distraught, guiding her to feet and crushing her to his chest, sobbing and shaking and promising that he'd never ever do that again, a moment of weakness, my love, please, please forgive me, firefly, I'm so very, very sorry.

 _Please don't let this be the catch_ , she begged numbly. _Please don't let this be the catch._

* * *

Columbia, two years later, checked in for her eighth visit to the hospital.

The nurse pursed her lips with tentative concern, noticing not only her dislocated knee and three cracked ribs, but also the numerous stale, ugly bruises littering her body. Slipped on the stairs, her patient had said. Accident prone, her patient had chuckled, and was believed, on the third time. Ever since then, there'd been a palpable thickness in the air each time the unmistakable, exotic name appeared on the minor injury list.

'Stairs again, was it?' The nurse asked in a low, obviously unconvinced tone of voice.

'No,' the patient, who had lost a considerable amount of the light that had once defined her eyes deadpanned, making the nurse flinch in surprise. 'No, I stole some money. Not much, but I was caught, and I got what I deserved.' The bone-weary patient looked up nervously. 'You won't tell anyone, will you?'

The nurse shook her head and began her examination. She had assumed her patient meant she tried to rob a store, or a bank. She never even dreamed that Columbia had tried to get into her own purse.

* * *

'And it just got worse from there,' Columbia sighed, dabbing at the corners of her teary eyes. 'More scary. More painful. More humiliating.'

Sprite found she couldn't speak for emotion. Eventually, she chocked out, 'Why didn't you leave? Why _haven't_ you left? You don't deserve any of this, Columbia, you have to get out. You _can_ get out.'

She shook her head. 'No. I can't. I'm in this to the end, now. I wanted to leave, but the dominant part of my fucked up brain wanted to stay. Frank loved me with same intensity with which he - abused me.' She chocked, as if she'd never said it like that before. 'I'd rather deal with the pain for the rest of my life than never experience that kind of love again.'

Heavy silence ensued. It _whooshed_ over them like a black mist that couldn't be dispersed unless they continued to address the controversial topic.

Incredibly, Sprite found herself laughing. 'Look at us. Just look at us.' She laughed harder, putting her head in her hands. 'What are we doing? Literally what is happening?'

'Have you ever been in love, Tink? Like, properly?' She said no. 'I have,' Columbia sighed wistfully and began to get teary again. 'I thought that was it. I thought the universe had finally given me my break for putting up with all the toxic shit I was forced into. He was everything I ever needed, at that moment.'

Respectfully quietly, Sprite kindly asked, 'Was he handsome?'

'No,' Columbia laughed. 'His name was Eddie, and to someone like me, he should've been the ugliest thing I'd ever seen. But, for some reason, I couldn't see him like that. He was good and kind and attentive, and that's what made he fall head over heels for him. I've a picture actually. C'mon, let me show you.' On the way to Columbia's room, she explained, 'That was ages ago though. Frank found out, obviously, and put a stop to it immediately. He did something bad to him. I know he did. I don't even know if he's still alive, but all Frank would say to me was, 'That vile old thing will never keep you away from your Frankie again!', in what was a very accurate impression.

Columbia unpinned a battered old Polaroid picture from her cluttered cork board and handed it over.

Sprite's heart stopped.

She studied the picture even harder, begging for it to be her mind playing a trick on her. She clutched her chest when she had to accept the truth, breathing, 'Oh my God,' and then yelling, ' _Oh my God!'_

Columbia took a few tentative, concerned steps towards her and she recoiled backwards, petrified.

It was the man in the tank.

* * *

Frank chose to burst in at that precise moment, a swirl of expensive cologne and real leather that made Sprite swoon onto the bed and Columbia stand ram-rod straight and stare at floor submissively. He looked suspiciously at Sprite and snapped an intense glare towards Columbia.

'What have you done to her?'

'Nothing.'

'What is that?' Frank demanded, gesturing to the Polaroid in her shaking hand that she hadn't had time to re-hide behind the signed dance pictures and uplifting quotes.

'Nothing,' she mumbled again.

'Give it to me.'

'No.'

'Let me see it!' Frank snatched the picture from poor, defenceless Columbia, who had since begun to cry quietly. A growl rumbled in his throat, preluding the dangerously soft, 'You've got some nerve, you ugly slut, you've got some gall.'

'Frank, don't talk to her like that,' Sprite piped up bravely, after concluding that she wasn't going to faint or vomit.

Frank turned sharply, as if he'd forgotten she was there. He tore the picture in half with with a disgusted sneer and a disapproving scoff, hauled Sprite to her feet by the arm and dragged her out wordlessly.

* * *

'You know who that is, don't you?'

Sprite, sitting across from Frank in the library and staring demurely at her lap, nodded silently.

'I freaked out,' she admitted shamefully. 'She already had her suspicions about his fate but I couldn't keep it together. I think I've just made it all worse.' She covered her face with her hands and took a deep, shaky breath. 'It was an accident,' she whispered. 'Please, I swear on my life it was accident. I never meant for any of this to happen.'

Frank reacted with sympathy, which was unexpected. He gently pulled her into his lap and cradled her there while he attempted to comfort her.

'Of course you didn't, of _course_ you didn't...' he simpered, holding her head against his chest as she tried her hardest not to start crying. 'No one ever _means_ for these awful things to happen... But, tragically, the man _is_ dead. There's nothing anyone can do about that. Except, perhaps, lessen the blow for poor Columbia.' He paused, shifting her into a more comfortable position. 'Imagine what would happen if she ever found out. What on earth that devastated girl would think once she realised her own, dear friend is wholly responsible for her soulmate's death.'

A strange noise (one that Sprite hadn't known she was capable of making) escaped her, and she tightened herself to him until it was almost suffocating.

'Shhh, shhh, little one... I know it's not very nice, but your actions have consequences, don't they? He had to go immediately, once he saw you. I just couldn't forgive myself - ever - if I let him believe the delusion that he might stand a chance. A victim of false hope, Lessie, there's no greater suffering.

'Of course,' he continued on relentlessly, acknowledging the way her heart was racing and the silent, convulsing sobs wracking her frail body, but not doing very much to aliviate her, 'if it weren't for _you_ none of that would have come to pass. There's a strong chance the man could've survived, and could very well be alive right this minute. Columbia might have received some closure, or even had the chance to say goodbye. You snatched that opportunity away from her, my flower, your deliberate, selfish disobedience has condemned that innocent, lovely girl to a lifetime of grief, pain and suffering.'

'Please don't tell her,' Sprite begged profusely. 'You can't tell her.'

Frank purposefully ignored her plea, and fell into silence.

To Sprite, it felt like hours. The Sword of Damorcles moment, the blade hanging over her head and Frank - with his all-powerful control over her and the ability to expose Sprite at any time, in any way he wanted - held the knife to cut the thread.

'Of course I'm not going to tell her, my lamb.'

She broke down in sobs again, quickly subsided by Frank's gentle, yet threatening, coos for silence. 'You wouldn't want to put Columbia through something like that, would you?' She shook her head. 'No... and as long as you deserve it, I'll keep your filthy little secret, do you understand?'

How the tables had turned. She thought she was supposed to be protecting Frank, but he had tricked her and exploited her weak mind so that she believed she had to be protecting herself.

'You're not a bad person, Lessie, do you hear me? You're just misguided. Frightened. That's why I'm here. You can come to me any time. Any time. You _ever_ need _anything_ , I'm always going to be here for you. I love you so much, my little mouse. I really do.'

Frank was notoriously good at conveying the utmost sincerity and comfort when making empty promises, and he would probably go back on his word even if she did behave herself; just to make things more entertaining for his cruel, exploitative sense of humour. But she wholeheartedly believed every word anyway. She didn't have a choice, not if she wanted to stay sane.

She was heavily dependant on Frank before, but her whole life rested in the palm of his hand now. She couldn't physically _be_ without him anymore. She needed somebody else that knew. Somebody else that understood. Somebody else she could trust. Otherwise, the bottom would fall out of her world, she'd lose her grip on reality and her very existence would spiral out of control.

He was the personified amalgamation of all her deepest troubles, darkest desires and imperial afflictions; yet by a cruel twist of manipulated circumstance of inter-galactic proportions, he was also her only solution.

A little too ironic, don't you think?

* * *

Sprite shot backwards and almost burst into tears again when she entered her room.

Frank had gently advised her to go and lie down quietly for a short while, and Sprite, for once, was eager to follow his orders and do just that. Except her plans were halted by the somber, skeletal butler standing at the foot of her bed.

'What are you doing in here?' She demanded rather coldly.

Leering at her in all his creepy elegance, he explained, 'They're for you.' He gestured towards the small, opaque bottle set beside a fresh glass of iced water that had also been left for her. 'Master's orders. Sleeping drops.'

As if she would fall for that trick again. Sprite begrudgingly thanked the inhumanly scary man and, quite rudely, ushered him out.

She didn't touch the bottle, but she did take a much needed swig of the delightfully cold water. She hadn't realised how raw her throat was after all that screaming until now.

As it turned out, however, she did end up removing the pipette and squeezing a hefty amount into the water at around midnight. She had tried to go to sleep, but the previous hysteria had made her chest weak, and her throat dry and scratchy, meaning that she couldn't stop coughing.

Had she been less distracted, she might have noticed how the lid was set at a jaunty angle atop the neck. Almost as if someone had already medicated the water - administering as much as they liked - just in the nick of time.

* * *

 **We have choices to make  
We have promises that we can't break  
There is nothing left to lose  
So hold on to me, I'll hold on to you**

Corner - Allie Moss

* * *

 ***Tense orchestral music plays ominously in the background***

 **Alma Oakley**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Luna and LandyShadow - You're fucking awesome.**

* * *

Someone knocked softly at Sprite's door.

'Tink?' A female voice whispered, distinctively cartoonish and grating even in hushed tones. The door creaked open ever so slightly, letting in a stream of soft blue moonbeam, without waiting for a response. 'Tink, are you awake?'

Sprite struggled into a sitting position, flicked on her bedside lamp and wheezed, 'I am now.'

'Tink, you sound like you smoke three packs a day! Are you okay?'

Sprite nodded reassuringly, but even that put unnecessary strain on her burning throat.

The sleeping drops hadn't been at all effective, for her coughing just wouldn't stop, no matter how much water she drank or how many extra pillows she piled beneath her head. Now, her voice was low and gravely, and the physical repercussions were unlike anything Sprite had ever experienced.

'I'm fine, really, it's probably just a-.'

Columbia had scurried of to refill Sprite's glass (which had already been drained four times since giving the sleeping drops the benefit of the doubt) right in the middle of her sentence. She spluttered rather inelegantly and found herself sitting to attention with her hands neatly folded in her lap to await her return.

Sprite tried to wave the liquid away, but Columbia wouldn't hear of it. She'd also brought her back a tray, carrying peppermint tea, a spoonful of honey, salt water and _pineapple_ , which apparently was good for coughs, but Sprite had never heard of that remedy before.

'Frankie doesn't think I care about anyone.' Columbia's comment was nonchalant as she literally spoon fed the honey to Sprite, who sat there rather dumbfounded. Sprite had to admit that she had thought that herself since her arrival, but was about to eat her words. 'But that just isn't true. I only care about people who deserve my attention, _that_ much is true, but I act like a perpetual dumb bitch around _him_ because it's never a good idea to raise Frankie's expectations.'

Ah. Quite clearly, Sprite had spectacularly failed at that.

She mentioned this off-handedly, making Columbia laugh.

'Surely I should be exempt from your rule, though,' Sprite said as she made room for Columbia beside her and she huddled under the blankets like they were having a sleepover. 'I got your picture of your boyfriend torn up today.'

 _And I killed the bastard,_ Sprite thought colourlessly.

'I mean, I guess I am a little upset, but I can't really blame anyone else. I wasn't supposed to even have it. It was an accident waiting to happen.'

'Columbia, perhaps just play-pretend that...' Sprite felt her heart racing as she prepared the next question. 'If you had the chance to find out what happened to him... would you want to know?'

Columbia paused for thought, frowning deeply. 'No,' she decided with such conviction that it made Sprite flinch. 'No, because somewhere, deep down, I know he's dead. But, not having to accept that makes things a little easier for me.'

'I'm sorry, Columbia.' Sprite found herself clasping her friends hand but couldn't look her in the eye. 'I'm so, so sorry.'

'Why, that's alright. It's nobody else's fault but mine at the end of the day. I let my childish schoolgirl fantasies delude me into believing I could make Frank my bit on the side and get away with it. Anyway,' Columbia diverted the subject briskly, sensing the subject matter was upsetting Sprite, but for all the wrong reasons. 'I didn't come up here to talk to you about that. I came to talk to you about Frank.'

Sprite groaned. 'Why do we always have to involve him? Doesn't he drain us of our love and emotions enough when he's _with_ us?'

'I know, I know, it isn't fair,' Columbia agreed, but couldn't help laughing. 'I just wanted to let you know - to warn you - that Frank's "famed tantrum" should be occurring within the next forty-eight hours. My advice would be to stay away from him as much as you can. Keep your distance for now, and we aren't saying that because we think you can't handle yourself, we just think it best for you to watch and learn how to deal with it for next time.'

'How bad is it though, really?'

'Honestly, Tink, it's horrific. Certainly not for the faint of heart, I'll tell you that.'

'Are we really just supposed to lock ourselves away until it's over?'

Columbia nodded soberly. 'Unfortunately. It's heartbreaking, it's absolutely gut-wrenching to hear. For all his flaws, Frankie is genuinely trying to combat this, so hearing him sobbing and breaking things and screaming in rage is... it's quite haunting.'

'Has it always been like that?'

'Magenta told me that Frankie's always had a particularly nasty temper, but something happened years ago that's made it borderline unmanageable.'

'What happened?' Sprite realised she was whispering.

'I don't know,' Columbia answered honestly. I really don't know. Magenta doesn't like to talk about it. Riffy knows more than he's letting on though, I'm sure of it.'

' _Riffy?_ ' Sprite shrieked, tickled.

'Yes, I know it's stupid,' Columbia laughed. 'We all had nicknames for each other back in the day. I used to call Magenta 'Jen' all the time, and I was always 'Bee' to her. We never dared to call Riff Raff 'Riffy' to his face though.' She scrunched her face up in thought. 'Kinda wish we did now. Would've been hilarious.'

Columbia sighed, looking tired and resigned all of a sudden. 'It's not like that anymore,' she said. 'It used to be so lovely. Magenta and I used to have the most wonderful friendship, sure, Frankie had his moments, but most of the time he was such a gentlemen and so _funny_... and Riff, well he hasn't really changed. But in the last two or three years everything's just... just _crumbled_.'

'I'm sorry, Columbia, I didn't mean to upset you.' Sprite sensed how her friend was getting emotional, but it was more angry refusal rather than genuine sadness.

She looked over and gave Sprite a very forced, controlled smile. Tears glistened in her eyes, but it was a smile all the same.

'I don't mind. Not really. It feels good to talk about everything to someone from the outside. Reminds me of guidance counselling.'

That was one thing the odd pair could definitely relate to. Sprite had _endless_ counselling sessions as a child. In school, mostly, but sometimes she went to a _real_ professional. While those were the most cathartic, they were also the most emotional. She'd come home exhausted, lethargic, and do nothing except collapse onto her bed and sob her heart out into the dirty pillow.

She questioned, absentmindedly, why she didn't experience that same reaction after talking with Frank. Perhaps her subconscious was ensuring she maintained an impression of someone who actually had their life together. That facade lasted about a week.

Sprite had forgotten about her tea, and necked it like a lukewarm shot, before saying, 'Thanks for taking such good care of me, Columbia. I am kind of tired though. I hate to be rude, but would you mind...?'

Columbia understood without elaboration and leapt up obiedently. Not, however, without having Sprite gargle a mouthful of the salt water - something which Sprite had sincerely hoped Columbia had forgotten about.

'I just want you to get better before next week!' Columbia said, sounding more nurse-like than ever.

Still grimacing, she quizzed, 'What's happening next week?'

Columbia gasped. 'He hasn't told you?' Sprite shook her head. 'There's going to be a huge party. First one of the new year, these ones are always a particularly big deal. Honestly, Bambi, everything else becomes sort of bearable when you remember you have these parties to make up for it. They are the _best fun ever_.'

Columbia seemed very much the extroverted type, which explained her passion for these affairs. Quite the polar opposite to Sprite.

'Who's coming?'

Columbia went to speak and suddenly pressed her lips together quickly. Her eyes were bright and nervous. She'd done something wrong.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'Who's invited?'

'No one.'

'Columbia!'

'Okay, fine!' She sighed, cornered. 'Just promise you won't tell that you know.'

Columbia was _not_ about to say what Sprite thought she was. No way on this earth (haha) had Frank been telling the truth?

'I don't know if you saw that unmarked envelope this morning. It's a message. It came from-.'

'-Outer space.'

Columbia stuttered in shock. 'H-how did you-?'

'He already told me,' Sprite laughed. 'He said it to me recently but I didn't believe him. I thought he was just trying to wind me up.'

Learning that that statement was true, and she had, in fact, fucked an alien, stirred no reaction within her whatsoever. She supposed that nothing could surprise her anymore. Offend, disappoint, scare by the buttload. Never surprise.

'Oh,' Columbia said, slightly crestfallen. 'Well, he isn't!' She chirped her last three words happily and shut the door loudly.

* * *

Sprite, as usual, hardly did well for hiding her inner soliloquies.

Every little mistake she made, every little change in Frank's behaviour, every little noise in the house (no matter how quiet or far away) caused her to instantly lose it.

She hated anticipation more than anything in the whole world, which is why she refused to accompany her friends into haunted houses during Halloween. Had she swallowed her fears and braved it all those years ago, she might have fared better during this absent period of limbo, as the two scenarios were rather similar in principle.

Except the extravagant makeup was worn for personal preference and comfortability in lieu of professionalism, the actors were not actors at all, but real people, whom were genuinely terrifying and helplessly insane, and there was a distinct lack of any exits into the real world, emergency or otherwise.

Paying testament to her extreme clumsiness, a full vase (prettily arranged by Riff Raff, of all people) fell from its pedestal as she stumbled and grabbed on to the column for balance.

Sprite's own cry was probably louder than the smash itself, and Frank, of course, rocketed to her aid in seconds, immediately assuming she'd taken a debilitating fall or offed herself completely.

'Oh, Frank!' She cried, staring dejectedly at the scattered, dirtied flower petals and dripping cold water that soiled the expensively carpeted stairs. 'Frank, I'm so sorry! I really didn't mean to, I swear it was an accident, I just wasn't looking where I was going and I-!'

' _Calm down_ , darling!' Frank said, incredibly worried and slightly bemused. 'There's no need to get so worked up, my love, it's only water!'

She couldn't suppress a whimper of complete surprise. Wasn't he supposed to go crazy? Shouting and screaming at her for breaking his vase and ruining his upholstery in one fell swoop?

As if someone had heard her thoughts and leapt in to ensure she didn't untactfully vocalise any of them, her next breath informed her of what it must be like to inhale a curry.

She doubled over unattractively and took to violently hacking, the ailments of which had been pestering her and slowly weakening her for two days now.

She heard Frank's deeply sympathetic tutting even through the din of her own convulsing. He rubbed her back soothingly until it passed, and even though she had been severely warned to stay away from him until it was safe again, she turned and clung to him, far too hot and shaking terribly.

Frank was strong enough to (and frequently did) pick Sprite up one-handed and carry her around on his hip like a baby. He often did this purely to tease her, but this time it was executed with such tenderness and concern that she barely registered what was happening until they'd walked down the stairs and into Frank's bedroom.

'I _am_ worried about you, flower...' Frank stroked her hair behind her ear after sitting the two of them down on the bed and settling her in his lap.

She nestled against his chest, sighing contentedly despite the furious aches wracking her body. She whispered, 'You're _always_ worried about me.'

Frank reminded her she could tell him anything, which he often did, and kindly asked her what was troubling her.

'This thing. This event that happening,' she sighed, which was not a complete lie. 'I can't stop thinking about it. I'm really nervous, Frank. It's making me feel sick.'

'Well, whatever are you nervous about, my darling?

'What if they don't like me?'

'Oh, come now, Lessie, how could anyone not like you? Hmm?' She reluctantly separated from him and let him hold her securely at arms length. Smiling, he winked at her before saying, 'You're charming and sweet and you're kind to everyone. You've very pretty manners and you _look_ like a little doll.'

She turned away sharply again, to hide a bashful grin this time.

Frank tapped the end of her nose (something which he'd only recently began doing again, after it was once misjudged and caught her right in the eye instead. She'd never known a sensation like it. She literally felt it in her brain). 'You've _nothing_ to be frightened of, my little mouse. You're mine now. And as long as I'm here, nothing bad will ever happen to you. Do you understand?'

Sprite was rather taken aback by the sudden intensity with which he spoke from his heart (so he really does have one, then?) and should have responded with something equally profound and romantic. However, her illness pounced on her again, and she fell into another bout of terribly painful coughing.

'As long as you get rid of that nasty cough, that is.' Frank spoke with a certain level of humour, but felt her forehead and briefly inspected her concernedly.

'It's fine,' she said, after heaving up one last cough. 'I'm not worried. A poor immune system comes with the territory of a preemie baby.'

His ridiculously outlandish eyebrows rose slightly in mild surprise. 'Was there a reason?'

'Narcotics and pregnancy don't go very well together, as it turns out.'

There it was again. That sucker-punch of sickening, all-encompassing hatred that stemmed from Frank's very core. It was quickly followed (though by no means replaced) by a stab of shame and guilt. He should've been there for her through all those years of hardship. He would never forgive himself for not taking his treasured little mouse away from that God forsaken cesspool sooner.

Sprite sensed this highly dangerous change in behaviour immediately, and made an excuse of feeling washed out and tired to quickly leave.

Frank pressed a plastic bottle of water into her hand and told her to drink it all.

'There's lots more on hand,' said Frank. 'Keep those fluids coming. Drink as much as you can.'

* * *

'Now, you're ill, so hopefully Frank will leave you be.'

Magenta spoke calmly as she entered briskly and began fussily performing caring duties towards Sprite. This included helping the girl from her bed into a chair as she quickly changed the sheets (soiled beyond comfortability after severe night sweats) and back again as Sprite had become too weak and full of fatigue to do it herself. She also pressed a cold flannel against her burning forehead to try and battle the raging fever. Finally, she had her swallow two very strong painkillers (with yet more pre-medicated water that was only worsening her symptoms, unbeknownst to all except the scientist and the handyman residing in the house) to alleviate the chest pain that sometimes had Sprite screaming.

'Celeste,' Magenta said sternly. 'Look at me. Do not even attempt to leave this bed.'

Sprite nodded meekly. She could no longer talk as the pain had taken her voice away, however she wouldn't have spoken anyway, for Magenta was far too intimidating when she wanted to be. 'Nothing happened yesterday, so it _will_ happen today. You need _anything_ , Columbia and I will be right next door, so just knock on the wall if calling is too painful. I've made you comfortable in your room, now you _stay here._ Understand?'

Sprite nodded again.

Magenta patted her shoulder in a motherly sort of way and left the room.

The terrified girl was left in silence, to lie there half-dead, and alone.

* * *

Sprite woke up feeling - with no hint of over-dramatisation - absolutely reborn.

She must've dropped off at some point. During her slumber, her fever had not broken by any means, but had certainly gone down, her throat wasn't as sore as it had previously been, and she was feeling so much better in herself.

It was now early evening, judging by the colour of the vast expanse of cloudless sky.

She sat there for all of two seconds before she became fed up, and even less time to decide she absolutely wanted to do something about that.

 _Surely it wouldn't hurt to go down to the library, just for one moment? I can't stay here and do nothing all night, I'll die of boredom._

She was even more elated to find that walking was a lot easier for her now. She still experienced muscle fatigue and the occasional wave of nausea, but nothing too incapacitating.

She practically skipped down the stairs and didn't take half as long as she usually would to select a few books to carry up with her. She was conscious she was both disobeying (therefore disrespecting) Magenta who she had grown to love fiercely, and willingly putting herself in very real danger.

The three books probably weighed more than her, and she struggled fairly to get them to her room as quietly as she needed. Carefully setting them down in a pile on the floor, she pushed the door handle.

It didn't move.

She tried again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

With a certain degree of panic, she tried the door a third time. She pushed and pulled, using every ounce of her strength, hit against the solid wood a few times. It didn't even budge.

Stepping away from the door, slightly scared but mostly annoyed and confused, she tried to figure out why it wasn't working.

The answer crept up on her slowly. On purpose, it seemed, as if to spite her.

She had promised Magenta she'd stay in her room. In the tiny window of her absence, Magenta, thinking that Sprite was still in there, had locked the door.

That was it. It was over. No point fighting it now.

Frank was prowling about the house like a blood-thirsty lion and she was stuck locked out in the open, powerless to find safety. It was only a matter of time before they crossed paths and then... she didn't even like to think of what could happen.

 _How do you get yourself into these situations, Sprite? Do you practice?_

Okay, she had to think rationally about this. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as they said, they might have been over exaggerating to increase the chances of her listening to their warnings. Or maybe, seeing as Sprite knew by now she was obviously his favourite, Frank wouldn't dream of hurting her even if he did lose his mind.

 _Yeah, Sprite, of course that's true. Keep kidding yourself, perhaps pigs will fly if you try really hard._

Quietly, she found that all the doors in the entire household (except Frank's lab and bedroom - even she wasn't stupid enough to try that again) had been locked. Which meant the only rooms she could go into were the lounge, kitchen, library and conservatory (a horribly eerie place, she found, cold, and uninviting).

By the product of some divine intervention, an embarrassingly simple yet promisingly effective idea struck her.

Perhaps she could go out into the garden instead?

The night air was not too cold. It was certainly large enough to find somewhere to conceal herself in, and very pretty to look at. She hadn't really explored the garden much before, but she had always wanted to. Now that the opportunity presented itself, why not kill two birds with one stone?

As quickly as she dared go, she crept downstairs and silently slipped _out of the window._ Never in her life did she think she'd have to actually do that one day, nor that she would accomplish it so easily. She thought that only happened in films.

Evidently a lot smaller than she originally thought, she was also a lot quieter too. She refused to believe anyone was capable of hearing her sneak out, even in silence as thick as this one.

The night's sky was wondrously clear and bright, the flowers provided relaxing aromas of rose, lavender, tulips, amaryllises, chrysanthemums hydrangeas (there was enough to occupy her for weeks) and the stone pathway was pleasantly cool and smooth on her bare feet.

It made Sprite smile to reminisce on the vivid memory she had of Frank's complete shock at her ability to literally cartwheel across sharp gravel with nothing on her feet. She had been feeling especially playful that day, and had, through her incessant giggles, explained that she often had no footwear supplied for her as a child, so had grown accustomed to walking, running and tumbling across all sorts of surfaces completely unprotected. Frank had burned with sympathy, clasped her to his strong chest and kissed her fervently as he always did whenever she talked of her neglectful childhood. She had initially slapped him away playfully, but soon turned solemn (an extreme rarity, and Frank knew this better than anyone, so she immediately had his full, undivided attention) and asked him to help her forget about those times and to replace her memories with magical ones. He had smiled down at her in one of those increasingly frequent, especially tender and loving ways, pressed their foreheads together in what was slowly becoming their own personal display of intimate affection and swore that he would.

It would seem Frank embarked on keeping and proving his promises almost immediately after making them, for that night was the most magical night _she'd_ certainly ever had with Frank (or anyone, for that matter) and had yet to have another one that even came close to evoking such a physical and emotional response within her.

Sprite had to abruptly sit down on a lavishly padded white iron bench, grimacing and gasping for breath. The intense longing for that happier time had set the grief tearing her apart like a hole in her stomach.

If she had relayed her thoughts to Frank now, whatever untameable beast was invariably invading Frank's body, he probably wouldn't remember a single thing.

Not the catharsis. Not the lovemaking. Not even her.

Again, she sighed.

Sprite was at a loss for what to do. She rarely ever knew what to do. She couldn't just put her emotions to one side and face the practicality of the situation. She'd never been able to do that, as she was cursed with an over-active mind, vivid imagination and a tendency to to worry. A lot. Far too much, if she wanted to believe the words Frank often used (along with the plethora of others) to scold or degrade her when he was particularly touchy or just exercising his capacity to be extremely, inhumanly cruel.

She had fired back with the classic 'Just because you're a complete sociopathic fucking psycho doesn't mean I have to be!' which had earned her a smack hard enough to cause severe, angry swelling on her face. Frank wouldn't go near her until it had gone down, which only upset her even further. Using his own violence towards her in order to make her feel ugly and disgusting, not worth his attention. She blamed herself of course, for if she hadn't had the nerve to speak to her protecter like that, none of that would've happened.

The wind was biting now, and she brought her fingers up to her face gingerly. Still quite tender, she found.

Somehow, while she was deep, deep in thought, her legs had walked her all the way around to the front of the house.

She took a deep breath. She fidgeted. She shivered.

She _could_ leave. The answer was there, all the time. She was stood in front of it right now, all she had to do was take a few steps forward and she'd be gone.

She strolled forwards nonchalantly. Perhaps if she didn't acknowledge the magnitude of the process, she'd find the courage to follow through with it. She might even be able to run, if she got really confident.

She wasn't too far from the end of the path now. Just a few more yards until the dirt road veered upwards, and the castle would be concealed by a large hill. She had a feeling, if she reached that checkpoint, she wouldn't be turning back.

Before that thought had even really become a thought, while it was still nothing more than distractedly fleeting scraps of impressions yet to be assembled into something coherent, she was wrapped in a pair of strong arms, pressing her firmly against a very familiar chest - that was, given the current situation, terrifyingly muscular and firm.

'Going somewhere, my little mouse?'

Well, that idea lasted about five seconds. Don't cry about it though, Sprite, you would've only ran back desperately sobbing at the mere prospect of not having him there.

She shook her head silently.

'No, of course you weren't,' Frank purred in between languidly kissing her neck. 'Let's get you back inside then, the weather's brutal out here tonight.'

Sprite could feel herself running down again (painful chest, aching limbs, shaking with fever) as Frank gently steered her towards the house and walked her into the library. She weakly protested against starting the fire, as her voice and outwardly appearance was sufficient proof that she was ill enough as it was without adding soot and smoke to the equation, but Frank wouldn't hear of it and snapped his fingers at her like a dog and that was all it took.

It was pathetic, really. How easily she was controlled by him.

She didn't even know where to begin with Frank's current mental state. She had not the faintest idea what he would be like, or what was going to happen.

Eventually he got fed up of watching her struggle with it and harshly pushed her out the way with a short, 'I'll do it myself!'

Standing up was getting harder, she found. Oh joy.

Frustrated though he was, Frank turned and smiled at her when it was done and had her sit with him. Pulling her in close to nestle right up against him, holding her head against his chest and cradling her there tenderly, with her legs outstretched across his, tangled together so tightly she couldn't feel where hers ended and his began.

Deceptively restrictive, loving and gentle to anyone who might have looked in, and incredibly easy to see all of her at once. Frank was free to undress her with his eyes if he felt like it (likely) and could easily suffocate her or break one of her legs if she tried to get away.

Softly, he asked, 'What were you doing out there, darling?'

'Thinking,' she responded simply. 'Nothing special. Just thinking.'

'I don't like you playing out there.' The conversation had taken a sickeningly childish turn, and his voice, along with it, had turned stern and disappointed. 'How many times have I told you that?'

Sprite risked a glance up and saw he was blankly staring into space. His hands continued to touch and caress her, but it was so much more mechanical now. As if he'd switched over to autopilot.

'All it takes is one person to find you there by yourself. They'd worry for you, my flower, a lot of people do. Your cluelessness and silly fears are not something easily hidden.'

Passive aggressive behaviour was apparently becoming one of Frank's many talents.

'They'd start asking you questions. I know they would, and you're a terrible liar, baby, you won't improve no matter how much you practice.' She looked down, hiding her burning face with her hair. 'Then what? After you so pathetically betray us, what do you think would happen to me?'

'Don't talk about things like that.'

'Or even worse,' Frank ignored her pleas, as he so often did, but held her more protectively, kissing the top of her head as he sense she was getting upset, 'someone could just come along, take your hand and you'd be gone. A lot of people want to take you away from me, little mouse,' Frank warned unnervingly. 'They don't think I deserve you. They think I'm hurting you, keeping you here, with me.'

'Who said that, Frank?' She asked fearfully.

He caught her eye for just a moment, and immediately Sprite saw something change. She couldn't pin point what it was, but a switch had been flipped. Something... snapped.

He leaned in slowly for her, and her first instinct was to jerk herself away hastily, but Frank's grips held her firmly in place.

She instantly relaxed when Frank tipped his mouth down to her neck and planted soothing kisses across her skin. She felt him murmur his sympathy against her skin - burning hot, she remembered, and absentmindedly wondered why he hadn't immediately began fussing over her as he so often did when she exhibited any signs of illness - and she couldn't deny how she embraced the delightful shivers running down her spine at every teasingly brief and gentle touch.

'That's none of your concern,' Frank murmured in a husky voice she barely recognised as his own, creating yet more sensation that eventually elicited a quiet little moan from her. 'Nothing for you to worry about, little one. Frankie's here, he's got everything under control. I'm never going to let anybody hurt you as long as you do as I say.'

His hands were unusually harsh and restless on her skin, squeezing and raking and pinching until she cried out. He barely acknowledged her discomfort, doing nothing to alleviate or even comfort her. Instead, he took the skin of her neck _hard_ between his teeth, her own cries drowned out by the animalistic snarling emitting from Frank's throat.

'The others don't know,' he panted roughly into her mouth after stimulating her there until she bled. 'Swear you won't tell. You've caused enough trouble for them already and you can _not_ tell them that they're in danger!'

'From _whom?_ ' She stressed, trying not the cry at the nails clawing at her back and Frank's sticky red mouth grinning against her ear as he bruised her there again. 'If there are bad people here then surely I deserve to-!'

He slapped her. She'd been struck many times before, but this was different. Her head rocked back painfully and she instantly felt warm, coppery blood filling her mouth. His hands were clamped around her throat again, like the first time she'd done something wrong. This time, however, he wasn't just trying to scare her. Reflexively gasping for breath forced her to swallow the blood lest it spilled out unattractively, and instinctively fighting against Frank only made him giggle and smile broadly at her as if he thought she was just being cute.

'Have you _ever_...' Frank's voice had dropped back into the seductive purr he used by default, and his eyes were blazing as she roamed her struggling body lazily, purposely taking his sweet time with her punishment (although for what, she still wasn't sure) to elongate her suffering and tease her with the probability that she would legitimately die. '...considered that the world doesn't revolve around _you?_ You are not the only person in this house, my girl, do you understand that? I appreciate having to curb your habits of only caring about yourself must've been a nasty shock, and I've spoiled you rotten thus far, but I will not be taking any of the responsibility or the blame for your selfishness any longer!'

She grappled at his tight fingers as she whimpered and squirmed helplessly. Giving her a gentle smile, he only applied more pressure against her windpipe and she was out for a few seconds. He was laughing to himself when she came around. She couldn't hear it though the muffled ringing in her ears, but her rose-tinted vision failed to obstruct her view entirely.

It's not him in there, she reminded herself in an eerily calm way. 'It's not him doing this to you. It's a daemon or an Imp or childhood trauma or something. If he was in his right mind, if he knew, he'd rather strangle himself than see you like this for one more second.

'I've been lazy with you, my love.' He hadn't removed his hands, but he had loosened his grip a little. Not enough, but a little. 'But this, this childlike immaturity, this infernal crying, this persistent coddling _has to stop_. I can't grow up for you, dear. You've assumed you could get away with murder, but now...'

Her heart flipped again, but she soon realised he was only using an expression.

'Frankie, please,' she gasped, tugging feebly at his wrists with the last sliver of energy she had left. 'You have to let go of me. We can talk about this, I'll listen to anything you have to say and I'll try my absolute hardest to be anything you need, but you have to let me go.'

Frank smirked. 'Magenta told you to stay away from me, didn't she? Hmm? She's trying to make me out as a bad person because she trying to _turn you against me_. They all are, they have been since the beginning.' His face suddenly softened and he released his grip from her neck. She half-collapsed, gasping and coughing for breath, unimaginable pain in her those and chest. 'My darling girl...' he tilted her chin up and touched her pale cheek with his fingertips. 'Can't you see that?'

'How am I supposed to believe anything you say?' She demanded, unashamedly crying now. Frank's own demeanour changed into one of guilt and concern, and he tired to take her in his arms but she stood up angrily. 'It's not you in there, it's your mind talking. You're sat there professing your innocence with your own hands around my fucking throat!' Not one thing you've said tonight has even made any sense!

Tears glistening in his own eyes, Frank's breath hitched as he whispered, 'My poor lamb, please try and understand...'

'Understand? _Understand?_ '! She shrieked, feeling a tad unstable herself now. 'Understand what, Frank? That you probably don't even realise what I'm saying? That you're completely fucking insane? Mad? Crazy? Gone off the deep end, one wave short of a shipwreck, a cruel, manipulative fucking psycho? _Answer me you crazy freak!_ '

Seeing her in such an intense level of distress obviously succeeded in penetrating the red veil that shrouded his thoughts in sadism, and for one moment, Frank was almost himself again.

'Alright, little mouse, relax now.' Frank spoke soothingly to her like he was calming a feral dog or a wild horse. He walked towards her with his arms out and she darted away from him, terrified. 'You're going to be okay, you're going to be just fine, you just need to calm down...'

She began to get pins and needles in her hands and feet as the blood tried to find it way around her body again. She covered her mouth, hiding her face and began hyperventilating as the emotional turmoil of the situation became to much for her.

'Shhh, darling, I'm here. I promise it's me, I'm right here. Come to me, baby, let me hold you.'

Before she even comprehended what she was doing, she carelessly flung herself across the room and dived into Frank's awaiting embrace. He scooped her up immediately, hoisting her to his waist with ease and holding her close to him with all his might.

Sprite could feel his own body trembling as he fervently comforted her with the same frequent whispering a about how much he adored her and how it tore him apart to see her so unhappy and how it would kill him if she left him here alone because she didn't know what loosing someone like her would mean for someone like him.

She stayed flush against him long after she'd settled down and even longer after he began kissing her slowly and gently until she felt strong enough to speak again.

'What happened to you, Frankie?' She whispered numbly as he continued to gently rock her and humming the sane tun that sent her to sleep after her nightmare - a nightmare that, she found with a piece of hot lead dropping to the pit of her stomach and settling there to fester - was slowly coming true more and more each day. Could it have only been a few months since he'd first sang to her and peppered her with soothing, chaste kisses while she pretended to be too drunk to know? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Too much had happened to go back to that point now. She felt too old. Too sad. She sighed again, tightening her grip around him even further. 'How could you possibly become this unstable? How could you have had no one to help you until now?' She raised her head from his chest and held his face in her shaking hands, seeing that they were both as big an emotional wreck as each other now. He brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed it, permanently unable to do or say anything else to express just how much he really, truly loved her. She traced her thumb across his bottom lip, making a mess of his dark lipstick, before looking deeply into his eyes - to that shred of humanitarian, loving Frank that had to be in there somewhere, no matter how damaged or small - before whispering, 'Oh, Frank... Frankie, who hurt you?'

He burst into tears then. She knew it was coming, but actually seeing it in the flesh for the first time was absolutely soul-denting. He buried his face in her shoulder, clinging on to her for dear life and bawling, and the her last memory of that night was him blindly fumbling with her shirt, desperately biting and licking her neck while pitifully begging, 'Let me, please let me...'

Everything went dark after that.

* * *

Sprite woke up on bed that was not her own or Frank's.

It was a partially decorated room (wallpaper peeling away, carpet ripped up only in certain places, exposing mouldy, rotten, scratched wood) used only for sex, as she had once discovered during her many afternoons of exploring and poking her nose in where it wasn't wanted.

'Jesus!' She cried, which was an abnormal way for Sprite to start her day. ' _Jesus!'_

She had been handcuffed to the bed at some point during the night, and had evidently fallen asleep in them. She'd been hanging off of her wrists all night, now purple, swollen and burning fiercely from lack of circulation.

She tried to sit up to give her arms more leverage, and found that she couldn't move. She kicked her legs around loudly, both to get the blood flowing again and to discard the heavy sheets, and failed to suppress a scream of unexpected horror.

Everything from the waist down was completely soaked in harsh crimson blood, some of which was still wet and glistening.

She raised her hips to the awful sound of her own flesh unsticking, peeling away from the dried blood that had glued her there previously, and with a great deal of pain and guttural moaning, pushed herself up to sit with her backside on the pillows (soiled by some unidentifiable liquid she couldn't bar to ponder over) instead of the mattress itself.

Before she could get any further in figuring out just what happened last night, her ever-deteriorating illness seized her again. She coughed and coughed and coughed until she half-expected to see wet scraps of her own insides flying from her mouth.

She didn't hear the door opening but she did register the tissue covering her mouth. To her dismay, her one last brutal cough saw the white tissue flush a startlingly contrasting shade of deep crimson.

Coughing up blood? She was...coughing up _blood?_

When she could see, breathe and think again, Sprite saw Magenta angrily dispose of the soiled tissue and proceeded to roughly un-cuff her and push her off the bed and to her feet.

The physical pain of standing was nothing like Sprite had ever experienced, and her shrill, inhuman wail payed testament to that. She sat down hard, still extremely distressed, and begged Magenta to help her.

Hysterically sobbing, she said, 'Please, I'm so sorry. It was an accident. It hurts so much. Please help me, Magenta. I'm so sorry.'

Magenta stopped, having just gathered the sheets into an untidy ball. She turned to look at the girl, so young and helpless, crumpled and devastated and bleeding.

Magenta sighed, sympathetically exasperated, and knelt down across from her. Sprite's hair was greasy with sweat and tangled in her own blood. She would have to do something about that before Frank saw it.

Magenta was sure what (if any) good this would do, but she smiled at her.

'When are you going to learn to do as you're told?'

Sprite broke down in relieved sobs and clung on to her desperately, while Magenta patted her back and stroked her hair as gently as she could. She noticed, with a concerned frown, that she could feel Sprite's spine, extremely prominent and distinctive under her clothing.

Magenta had been in the same situation once or twice before. Frank's hiatuses always had three main side effects: sex, amnesia, or violence. All three were the extremities of the acts.

Violence was self-explanatory and gruesome enough, but amnesia was the hardest one to watch. Frank would all of a sudden become confused and frightened, often crying and begging to go home, pleading with them not to hurt him. He was almost impossible to settle in that state (once, he even began climbing the curtains in his level of distress and they had to sedate him with a damn laser), for no matter how much they tried to reassure him of his safety, nothing would go through to him and he'd only get more upset. It wasn't uncommon for him to vomit or void himself because he was so scared.

Sex was even worse. If Sprite (the infuriating little nuisance) had stayed in her room as instructed, she wouldn't have had to find that out the hard way. Whatever burning atrocities running amok inside of him that would have otherwise transgressed into violence were channeled directly into wild, feral, brutal sex. Thus, directly into Sprite.

Sprite, tiny, dainty, petite Sprite had been all but snapped in half after Frank's relentless aggression with her. She probably enjoyed it at first (as Magenta was ashamed to admit also) but after the first hour of non-stop extreme physical stimulation and exertion, it just became an incredibly unique and obscene form of torture.

From the looks of her, they'd been at it all night (there was no such thing as Frank being unable to get it up), and presumably they only stopped for a pathetically short amount of time to change positions, bring out Frank's collection of toys, or, as it seemed to have happened, when Sprite's frail human body just gave out.

Come to think of it, Magenta thought with a cringe, it probably still went on while she was unconscious. She must have been exhausted to sleep through that.

As if all of this wasn't bad enough, the perpetrator had been inflicting these immoralities onto his favourite shiny new toy in (if the word would ever appropriately describe the extraterrestrial nymphomaniac transvestite whom terrified them all beyond compare, beyond belief) childlike innocence and confusion.

Frank's treasured little china girl. Just as pretty _and_ breakable as such.

Magenta did what she could to help the wretched girl clean herself up. She used wet wipes at first, but eventually had to physically lift her into the bath, fully clothed, and showered her off sitting down.

Even the jets of water running over her skin caused Sprite to wince and grit her teeth in pain.

Employing intense teamwork, they managed to wash the various substances out of Sprite's hair, give everything from the waist down a good scrub (excruciatingly painful, though it was) _and_ tidy the room up a bit - at least until it didn't look like a homicidal maniac or a bloody accident had recently occurred there.

'Sprite, listen to me,' Magenta said gently. 'We need to take this off.' She reached out to take the hem of Sprite's shirt - loudly coloured, sparkly and far too big for her, it looked to be one of Columbia's - but the girl shot backwards as if she'd been electrocuted.

'No,' she said desperately. 'Please don't, Magenta, I don't want to see. Please don't make me look at it.'

'You don't have to look, darling, you can just close your eyes.' Magenta had never used a term of endearment towards Sprite before, and their relationship now seemed more caregiving than ever. 'You can't leave it on because you could be injured. If that is so, this needs to come off immediately, lest it become infected.'

'But I'm _not_ injured.'

'I'll be the judge of that.'

Sprite gave a tearfully defeated sigh and lifted her arms up - even that took a considerable amount of effort.

Sprite daren't look, but that didn't stop her hearing Magenta wince and gasp in shock. It was not conventional shock, however. It was the type of shock one feels when knowing something is going to be bad, and unhappily discovering it's even worse than previously suspected.

'Okay... well...' Magenta looked to be deep in thought, musing almost to herself. 'You're not bleeding, although you do have a few nasty gashes in you, darling. There's a _lot_ of bruising, but I think you knew that already. You're going to feel stiff and painful for a good while, but it's nothing serious. We do, however, have to do something about those tears.'

Sprite couldn't help imaging huge craters of her flesh having been scooped out, flaps of skin hanging on by meagre threads.

She always did have a penchant for the theatrics. Perhaps she should learn to curb her imagination. After all, it was that very thing which got her into this situation in the first place.

Cleaning Sprite's wounds was indescribably painful - she spent the most part clinging on to Magenta's hand and sobbing around another wad of tissues Magenta had put into her mouth to muffle the screaming, both to refrain from alerting anyone else and to help Sprite cope with the distress - but after it was done, she was quickly dressed in a clean shirt and loose trousers and half carried back to her room.

'Where's Frank?' Sprite asked.

Magenta turned back, incredulously furious. 'Surely you can't be asking for him? Tell me you don't want to see him, even after all of this?

'No, I was just wondering. I want to know what happened to him.'

'He's in bed,' Magenta explained flatly. She really couldn't care less about her master currently. Usually she had a certain level of sympathy towards him, but not now.

Not when he was truly heartless enough to maim her.

'He gets like this after an episode. Usually he gets so emotional - so full of hatred, so full of anger - that it sends him into a sort of coma after a while, as even Frank's body can't deal with something of that magnitude. He can wake up occasionally. He will eat, if someone feeds him. He will move, if someone guides him. But he's not in there. Frank truly becomes without a soul during this period.' Magenta sighed, suddenly bone-weary with stress and so much panic. 'It won't last long, this time. Thanks to you, he was able to get most of his anger out of his system before he gave out. He'll be up and about by the end of today.'

'How do we know when he's himself again?'

'You'll know. I can't explain how. But you will. Additionally, he won't leave you alone. Of course, he doesn't leave _you_ alone anyway, but he'll be all over you, darling. He'll be stricken with grief and guilt, he'll do whatever you may want to make it up to you.' Magenta chuckled humourlessly. 'Enjoy the positive attention while it lasts. Ask him to wait you hand and foot, I certainly would.'

Magenta always exited the conversation very abruptly. Never a goodbye, or even a hint that she was coming to the end of her sentence, she would just leave.

Sprite took what was probably far too many of the extremely strong painkillers from the bottle that had been left for her - more pre-contaminated water, stupid child - and fell into a surprisingly peaceful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

'Riff, may I have another bottle of those sleeping drops please?' Magenta stood waiting, pale, slender hand outstretched, politely expecting. 'She certainly needs them now, poor dear, you should see the state of her. She's completely black and blue, I don't know how she soldiered on through all of that.'

Riff handed it over to her silently, which was abnormal. He usually spoke as freely as he liked when it was just him and his sister together, after years of being forbidden from doing so much as thinking out of turn under Frank's suffocating oppression. She was either too pre-occupied to notice this change in behaviour or felt disinclined to quiz him on it, for she thanked him distractedly and instantly swept away.

Riff noticeably relaxed when he was left alone once more. He was far too cowardly to even dream of disobeying his masters orders, yet he loathed lying to his sister, perhaps even more so. The internal battle between his pride and his integrity was slowly tearing him apart. If this was anything close to what the pixie-like child was experiencing, he'd gladly take all of her pain away to burden on top of his own, for the Old Queen knows that's what he deserved.

He wished he could tell them. He wished more than anything within time and space itself that he could warn his most beautiful sister, urgently tell her not to give the child anything that came from the master first, for she'd only become an accessory to murder and only Riff would be to blame for condemning her.

He wished he could tell the poor young girl that she'd been unknowingly poisoned since the day after arrived here, and now in a twist of cruel irony, was innocently poisoning herself.

He wished he could tell everyone, shout from the rooftops even, that his master was amongst the cruelest, most sinister, manipulative and exploitative men he'd ever had the displeasure of knowing (and even more so, of acting as his meekly loyal henchman) and the inhuman scientist deserved to die a most painful death, have his throat ripped out by wolves, have his insides turned out, have his very heart served to Riff (whom had had his life mangled beyond description, imagination or redemption by this monster) on a silver platter.

He wished he could reveal that they weren't sleeping drops. He wished he could admit he'd known of his master's plan before anyone was even a likely subject. He wished he could reverse time and not allow the girl to ingest extreme quantities of that bacteria, and continue to do so for a long time. He didn't have to wish for her to survive, however, for the master had as many 'cures' as he did terminally infectious Petri dishes.

Riff only had to wish that he knew where they were.

Unfortunately for Riff Raff, as most natives liked to comment about his less than desirable social class: 'people like _them_ (often said with a sneer of utter contempt) are undeserving of wishes at all, let alone ones that come true.'

Never in all the handyman's melancholy years, had that statement been so true.

He'd just have to hope and pray that the heartlessly deceptive inducement of severe tuberculosis wouldn't kill her.

With that achingly tragic thought in mind, he entered the elevator to go and sit with his half-dead master.

 _One day,_ Riff thought to himself on the way up. _One day you'll see. I'll make you suffer the way I, my sister, that damaged, helpless girl and every other poor person who's been unfortunate enough to cross your path has suffered. I'll open your eyes, doctor. And I look forward to hearing you scream._

* * *

 **Did you know that every night I play your favourite songs on repeat?  
It helps me sleep  
Because my hair is growing backwards and my knees are bending inwards  
and monsters in the closet won't stop giving me the shivers  
Even though it's probably just in my mind**

Untitled v.2 - cavetown

* * *

 **Alma debates why she's turned her favourite character from her favourite movie/musical of all time into a heartless inhumane criminal challenge.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Oh my Lord. I have nothing to say. I'm just so glad this is finally out. My sincere apologies for the obscene delay. Thank you to my reviewers and those who constantly show me support. Enjoy.**

* * *

Frank woke up screaming.

One might have thought a wild elephant had been holed up in that room for the amount of noise coming from that secluded, dirty spare room.

Frank screamed and hollered, thundering and crashing around in a bed that wasn't long enough for him and a brain that wasn't stable enough for him, and he screamed and screamed until someone came sprinting in.

Magenta had, unfortunately, been closest to the din signalling Frank was ready to be lavished upon again, and had no choice but to go running to him before he brought the entire mansion down.

She dropped to her knees urgently, catching his flailing wrists in her elegant hands and shouting at him to be heard over the racket.

'Frank, it's alright! You're awake now, it all over, everything's going to be alright! Frank, calm down and stop screaming! Hey, hey, hey-!'

She delivered a harsh blow right across his face, grunting with the effort. Magenta was hardly notorious for her love of violence, but Frank, on this occasion, wholeheartedly deserved it. He deserved far more than just a slap. He deserved to be bludgeoned half to death, to be dragged through the slime and the mud, to have his already wavering mind just given that little extra pressure and implode completely.

What Magenta would give to see that.

But, sadly, that wasn't the case. For Magenta had a duty to carry out. A reputation to uphold. A secret to keep.

A tried and tested method despite its brutality, the impromptu backhand worked perfectly, and Frank snapped back into his old self like someone had pulled a switch.

They stared at each other stupidly for a few moments, until Frank eventually broke down into wretched sobs and tried to take Magenta in his arms.

She roughly pushed him away, spitting, 'Oh no, _doctor_ , you don't get any sympathy from me!' This shocked Frank (which was readable on his extraordinary looking face) for, as much as Magenta actively disliked him, she often couldn't help herself but to offer emotional support when it was needed. Magenta couldn't hide the look of bitter enjoyment that ruined her pretty face as she growled, 'Not this time.'

Frank's eyes widened slightly in dreadful anticipation. He'd obviously done something exceptionally bad. Reluctant to find out and cowering like a disobedient puppy, he asked, 'What... what happened?'

'See for yourself,' Magenta responded curtly as she was leaving. 'Second floor, third door on the left, you know the one.'

The door slammed shut.

The initial stab of excruciating remorse was quickly smothered by intense frustration. Frank had only gone and hurt Lessie (because she refused to follow the rules, no doubt) and all the progress they'd made was likely to be in tatters. What a ball ache.

Sometimes he really couldn't fathom why he kept his rebellious little mouse around. On more than one occasion he'd seriously considered throwing her out by the ear and making her find her own way home.

She just had a way of ruining _everything_. She frequently wound Frank up until he snapped, only to go off crying about it, and was using this wicked little technique to slowly convince his housemates that _he_ was the villain in all of this. They had less and less time for him every day, he could see that. She was never around when he wanted her, yet always seemed to appear out of nowhere at the worst possible moments. First the drunken entrance, then that dastardly laboratory mess and now this. And finally (and was was indisputably her biggest flaw) she didn't drop anything. She was always skulking around and getting involved in places where she wasn't wanted, and once she had the slightest inkling about anything - no matter how stupid or far-fetched - she would relentlessly pester him (she'd been loosing quite a bit of respect for Frank, recently, now that he thought about it) until he could literally turn around and throttle her.

But Frank was exceptionally doting and lenient with his endearing little mouse, and had never truly been able to refuse her anything she really wanted. Which was why (a luxury that she was too ignorant and self-absorbed to acknowledge) Frank was incredibly biased towards her.

He knew, deep down, he'd never be able to let her go. No matter how many times she misbehaved, he'd always be prepared to forgive her. She made up for a lot of her flaws, in her own, perpetually unseen and distinctive ways. She didn't have the willpower to stray from his bed, and that was always a positive. Frank knew that Lessie _definitely_ knew that her own loving Frankie was the only one who could calm her down and knock some sense into her (quite literally, on occasion), so he supposed it didn't really matter that she attempted to emotionally manipulate him so often. Which, by extension, absolved her of all grievances tied to constantly breaking the rules, otherwise she'd never have anything to get herself worked up about. And her relentless persistence only ensured his absolute control over her lasted far longer than was usually necessary.

Ran absolute circles around him, that child.

On the way to Lessie's room to feign debilitating grief and self-hatred (which, granted, was there - the tiniest, most minuscule sliver flared in his heart, but not nearly enough to warrant actually doing anything about) Frank clearly heard her ferociously vomiting from the bathroom.

Inwardly, Frank sighed. She was rather pathetic, really. He knew she was slightly weaker than most, but to be _that_ affected by something as minor as a bad cough? Scores of earthlings contracted tuberculosis all the time, and most of them made a full recovery in no time. Although, humans _had_ developed a treatment - which would've been the logical solution to this whole mission, had humans and Transylvanians had one anatomical similarity.

Nothing was quite that simple. Frank (one of, if not _the_ most experienced and intellectual scientists of his original team) would have to take on the task of altering the composition of the home-made cures to suit the Transylvanian system once his own recipes had been proven to work on humans too. Both parties had to be clean if they ever wanted to live together in harmony one day. It was highly likely the weakest of the two species would die out soon after - natural selection and karma were both notoriously ruthless, but had favoured Frank quite well - but the principle still applied.

This thought process caused Frank to, begrudgingly, albeit, conclude to discreetly start curing his little mouse. However, Frank did happen to catch sight of her just as she half-crawled back into the seclusion of her room, and she looked and moved like one big bruise.

Well, he didn't get to test the homemade ruphylin properly last time, so he might as well do it now.

Whether Lessie was sleeping, comatosed or dead, Frank found he wasn't overly bothered as he went into her room after preparing a syringe (even she wouldn't fall for the pills again and it was much more direct) filled with the liquified form of the ruphylin, and adding the obnoxiously bright pink curing powder into some coffee. She probably couldn't think of anything worse than drinking coffee now, especially black, but it was the only thing dark enough to mask the colour of the stupid thing.

He supposed she didn't have to take the medicine right away, but her memory (and the bruises) needed to be erased immediately. She would thank him for it, in the long run, as she would for all of his decisions. It really was frustrating how she refused to see that everything he did was for her own good. He cared about her. A lot. He might even love her a little.

She loved him more though. They both knew that.

Frank didn't initially think Magenta and his little mouse had a thing in common, which was why he was so surprised by their steadily growing connection. But now, he was beginning to see it. They both lingered in the background whilst he was trying to think, for one.

'Oh, okay,' Magenta sneered as Frank stepped out of Lessie's room and closed the door quietly behind him. Brave little thing didn't even stir. He must have given her a good time if she remained unconscious through all of that. Frank smirked. 'So you pump her full of dope when it suits you, but otherwise it's a fucking crime?' Magenta stepped right up to him in the way that still managed to make him laugh. 'Why are you being so heartless? I thought you liked her. She likes you. Why are you doing this to her?'

Frank smiled down at her condescendingly, and clasped both of her shoulders.

Quietly, he said, 'Because I can.'

Magenta scoffed harshly and Frank thought she might cry as she ripped herself away from him and stormed off.

Frank found himself liking Magenta a lot more recently. She was funny.

* * *

Sprite left her room feeling reborn. Literally. She genuinely couldn't remember the last time she felt this good.

Her fever had broken during the night, the swelling in her throat had gone down and even her bones weren't as tender as they were mere hours before. Her immune system must've been stronger than she thought.

She was elated to find that getting up and walking around took little to no additional effort on her part, and with a stupid grin on her face, she practically skipped down the stairs towards the smell of breakfast.

'Oh my goodness me,' Frank commented dryly as Sprite strolled in happily. 'It's awake.'

Sprite was pleasantly surprised to find Columbia sprawled across Frank as he cradled her head in his lap and lovingly petted her shock of red hair. It warmed Sprite's heart to see Columbia getting some of Nice Frank's attention. She deserved it more than anyone.

Columbia smiled blissfully up at her as Frank winked at her, and Sprite was slowly daring to feel quite happy.

Frank could only reach out for Sprite's hand and give it a hearty squeeze before kissing the back of it, due to Columbia looking very comfortable indeed and neither of them wanted to disturb her. They did, however, find a way for Sprite to carefully wriggle herself into a strategically formed gap. It was like Tetris, but with people.

'You don't mind, do you Columbia?' Asked Sprite, as this new arrangement involved the dancer having to stretch her legs out on top of Sprite's knees. She shook her head, and apparently enjoyed having her legs absent-mindedly stroked on top of everything else. She was almost purring in contentment.

Frank put and arm around Lessie's shoulder, encouraged her to nestle against him and quietly asked her how she was feeling.

'I feel so much better,' she answered wonderfully, her eyes shining with serenity and relief. 'I really do, it's like... like I was never ill in the first place. It was nasty, but whatever it was, it's gone now.'

She maintained no recollection of their encounter last night, which was a good sign. Neither did Frank, to be fair, but no one ends up looking that battered from falling out of bed or sleepwalking down the stairs. He'd never seen so much blood from such an intimate area before - and he'd seen that happen a lot of times. He must've been on top of his game last night. No trace of any bruise, injury or laceration remained either.

It was times like this he really appreciated his own talents. Way to go, Frankie.

'That's great, my lamb. That's really fantastic. You had us all very worried for a moment there.' He planted a resounding kiss on her forehead and Sprite easily could've cried with happiness. But, then again, Sprite cried at literally everything, so it didn't really make much of a difference. 'Especially since,' Frank continued, brushing her curls away from her face, 'our big celebration is happening tomorrow.'

Her eyes widened as she stuttered in shock. 'What? I thought it was in three days?' Frank gave her a weird look and she frowned. 'How long was I out?'

Frank chuckled. 'Perhaps you were more delirious than I thought. You did ask to talk with Rapunzel at one point, so I'm not surprised you don't remember a thing.'

'What? No way. Did I really?' Frank nodded, grinning, and Lessie covered her face with her hands. 'She was always my favourite. My hair was really long for the majority of my childhood, so I related to Rapunzel on a very deep level,' she laughed.

'You're obsessed with these parties, aren't you, firefly?'

Columbia, who had almost fallen asleep, reanimated slightly and mumbled her agreement.

'Yeah, they're always really fun,' she said, stifling a yawn and sitting up properly. She scrubbed her knuckles into her eyes in such a way that made both Frank and Sprite wince. 'I always go clothes shopping the day before, it would be nice to have some company this time around.'

They both looked at Frank hopefully.

He shrugged. 'Can if you want.' As they gleefully rocketed out the door, Frank called, 'No later than five, do you hear me? I need everyone to help with the preparations, this house isn't going to clean itself!'

The door loudly closed halfway through Frank's T's and C's, but Frank knew neither of his girls would dare to defy him.

'I'm not going to start calling you Rapunzel,' Columbia stated as they walked down the path towards the (very) faint lights of the town. 'Tink suites you better.'

Trying to keep up with her friend's long strides, Sprite queried, 'Because I'm small?'

Columbia stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Sprite incredulously. 'You think I call you Tink because you're small?' Sprite nodded midly confused. Columbia snorted a laugh. 'No,' she explained, 'I call you Tink because she needs attention or she dies.'

Sprite slapped her.

* * *

The day of the affair came around far too quickly for everyone's liking.

Sprite was the only one who had a hard time concealing her emotions and inner thoughts, but she would've felt ten times better about the whole scenario had she known that everyone, even Frank, was just as nervous as her.

If asked, Magenta would have kindly explained to Sprite that hosting these conventions never really got much easier. She'd been involved right from the start (whenever that was - nobody told Sprite anything about thier unconventional past. What little she knew, she gained from sleuthing, and she had recently become too scared to even do that anymore), so Magenta knew what she was talking about.

Everything had to be perfect. Not a hair out of place, not a toe out of line. Some of the most prestigious and respected figureheads from across the galaxy would be under thier roof tonight, and if anyone saw the slightest thing (no matter how innocent the mistake or ridiculously fabricated the evidence) that made anyone think that they were not fit to carry on with the mission, that they were completing the mission under improper or immoral circumstances, or that they were spending thier specially allocated time on earth procrastinating and not focusing on the mission at all, nothing was stoping anyone from scurrying back home and telling any and all officials they had to to ensure the termination of the mission to immediate effect.

An effect, no doubt, laced with violence, gore, indignities and a whole lot of misery. An effect guaranteed to destroy one's soul, as well as one's reputation.

Which was why, of all the affairs to have taken place over the years (if only furniture could talk!), tensions were at a record high on this occasion.

They had conducted enough theoretical research to last three lifetimes, but as far as actually assembling the creature went, they only had a mere brain in thier possession, and even then it was only half of one. Magenta knew a lot more than she ever let on. Her brother was constantly exchanging deliciously gruesome details with her immediately upon her request. She didn't know which misfortunate Earthling the brain previously belonged to (for she hadn't dared to ask) however she knew the dissection process and, when the time came, how to correctly carry out the transplant well enough to perform it herself.

As far as protecting themselves went, her thoughts now drifting from the unethical daydream she had distractedly slipped into, they'd either have to lie about thier 'phemominal' and 'groundbreaking' progress (absolutely confidential and top secret, of course) or just hope that enough people would understand the complexity of an endeavour such as this and choose to discuss more entertaining topics instead. Like skincare routines or innovative bondage techniques.

Lying was no problem at all. It was the risk of having someone potentially finding out that they had gotten the whole way there and lost the damn thing that worried her.

The entire household had been pondering this risk all day, (no mission means no safety net, Riff and I will surely be arrested and what on earth would become of Frank, and oh, what would poor, innocent Columbia and Celeste do with themselves if they were left all alone?), and to everyone's pleasant surprise, it was Frank that understood Sprite had a right to know and decided to have a careful conversation with her about it.

That _seemed_ like a good idea, right up until Frank let himself into her bedroom without knocking just in time to see her groan and flop forwards onto her bed, where she lay on her stomach in a defeated heap.

Shaking his head and fighting his amusement he said, 'Little mouse, what are you doing?'

'Sulking,' she grumbled.

'Why?'

'Nothing to wear.'

'Nothing to wear?' Frank echoed her frustrations kindly, a wide, endeared grin painted onto his face. What a simple dilemma to have, he thought. Prime example of overly-dramatic teenaged angst. How he wished to be in her shoes. Then, an idea struck him.

He uttered an agonised cry and collapsed on the bed next to her, making pantomime gestures of huge sighs, pained expressions and throwing the crook of his arm over his eyes dramatically.

'Nothing to wear!' He exclaimed theatrically, 'Oh, whatever are we going to do? How can we _ever_ let you leave this room _again_ , how will you _ever_ see the light of _day_ with nothing to wear? Oh, everything is so _unfair_ , your life is so _hard_ , whatever did you do to deserve such _travesty_?'

He sprawled out again, taking her in his arms and pulling her tightly against him, ignoring the way she playfully tried to get away from him and kept quietly giggling, 'Frank, stop it!'

'Stop making me _laugh_ , Frankie!' He cried, although it was pointless once he started mercilessly tickling her while she squealed and thrashed helplessly. He took it a step further by roughly rolling around on the queen-sized bed with her firmly attached to him (if she were to clatter to the floor now, not only would the delightfully desperate shrieks of heavily entertained protest be undoubtably replaced with tears, he himself was having far to much fun to stop playing now) and continued to cry, 'I don't want to laugh, I'm not in the _mood_! I'd rather stay in a big ol' grumpy sulk because all my clothes are, _like, so last year_ ,' he dropped into an exaggerated all-American girl accent there, and Sprite genuinely thought, along with being playfully rough-housed and tickled until the point of giddiness, she might actually be in danger of involuntarily relieving herself all over Frank's lap. He still wasn't done though, for he wrapped his legs around her before falling back against the pillows and whining, 'So stop trying to cheer me up because it's just _annnoooyyiinnngggg_!' He seized her upper arms and shook her fiercely, adding tremors into his own voice, and she shrieked, and screamed, and laughed, which encouraged Frank to continue shaking her until she thought she heard her eyes rattling around in her head and tasted her heart in her mouth.

'Frank, you're so _rough_ with her!'

Sprite jolted upright all of a sudden, and her head conked Frank on the chin so hard his teeth clacked.

Magenta spluttered a single laugh before regaining her composure. She stood there with a cocked eyebrow, smirking at the two of them, red faced, breathless, and tangled up in what was actually a far more innocent activity than a position of that nature (not to mention the noises accompanying it) usually conveyed.

'Oh, come on now, ' Frank pouted, seemingly unaffected by having his jaw dented. 'Don't be such a spoil sport, Magenta. We were just playing. Right, beautiful?'

Sprite was completely spent, lolling over Frank's chest. She was slightly winded and, albeit, experiencing a small amount of abdominal pain, however she smiled at Magenta, and that was good enough for her.

She felt more maternal towards Sprite every day. Which was weird, because they were intimate with one another more often than not, but what the hell.

She merely shook her head in fond amusement and left them alone once more.

Only when a distant door closed did Frank release Sprite, and she rolled off of him rather inelegantly as she welcomed the cool sheets that felt like heaven against her flushed skin.

They laid next to one another for a while, quietly tittering at how silly they liked to be. Eventually though, the silence was broken as Frank sat himself up.

'Now, darling,' Frank began in a voice that shattered her relaxed happiness and instantly sent an awful thrill down her spine. He was about to say something serious, and she knew it. 'As much as I enjoy playing with you, I actually came up here because I need to have a conversation with you.'

'Oh no...' she said. 'What...?'

'It's nothing to worry about, my pet, it's just something I think you should know.' He unexpectedly ruffled her hair - waist-length now, after Columbia had begged and pleaded with her to get extensions the day before, and squealed in delight when she saw the results - and smiled at her reassuringly. 'In the meantime,' he suggested, running his fingers through the silky, silver locks admiringly. 'Can I style your hair?'

* * *

Despite Frank spending the best part of two hours with her, working magic on her hair, expertly applying a full face of beautifully dramatic makeup and eventually helping her into the intricate and mostly foreign articles of clothing required for the occasion as well, Sprite still badly missed him when he left.

She lavished in all the attention (and the stream of over-the-top compliments that accompanied the long-awaited results). She was more than happy to have him touching her - even in the last sexual way intimacy could possibly be achieved. For someone so desensitised to violence, she couldn't deny he had _incredibly_ gentle fingers.

The dark, turbulent time was almost at an end, she thought gladly, and she was almost beginning to doubt any of those awful things had happened at all. Frank had been so charming and lovely today, as he had been for a good stretch recently. Making her laugh, playfully flirting with her, constantly teasing her (usually by jocularly treating her like a child - pinching her cheeks fondly, tickling her any chance he got and theatrically simpering along with her whenever she got frustrated or complained about how long it was taking until her stomach hurt from laughing). He made her feel so happy and calm. She almost couldn't believe somebody like him was capable of what she remembered him doing in the past. Perhaps she was recalling the events in an incorrectly over-dramatised way because she was obscenely spaced out with apprehension and alcohol half the time.

Not out of the woods quite yet, though. One tiny little thing to get through first.

Frank kindly brought her up to speed during thier unconventional pre-game. He had told her that a lot of important people were to be thier guests tonight (she secretly adored how he'd taken to using the plural of him and her together almost instantly) and that it was very important indeed to make a good impression. That much, she had already gathered, but then the conversation took an unexpectedly dark turn.

They did not leave thier home by choice. No, rather they were deported under very strict conditions. Sprite had innocently asked him why they were essentially forced to leave, and Frank warned her never to ask that question again. He had continued on to explain that they had to earn thier right to integrate back into society, and with the consented assistance of Riff Raff and Magenta, Frank was tasked with making something. That too, was a secret.

'Science,' he had hinted with a grin.

These affairs had been held annually ever since they left, and the objective of them was to let everyone from thier home know how much progress they had been making. Apparently not many at all were gifted in the scientific field, so they were thankfully allotted as much time as they needed to finish this insanely warped science project.

However, anyone could proclaim that the three of them were inept for this task at my time. If this were to happen, they would be forced to return home once again - to a welcome fit for criminals.

And Sprite would be abandoned all over again.

Neither of them wanted that outcome very much.

Then, Sprite experienced a rare burst of determination. Without faltering once, she neutrally asked Frank why he often hurt Riff Raff.

He had stopped. Fan brush in hand, mid sweep across her well-defined cheekbone. He had pulled back and stared at her. Almost like he'd never seen her before.

'I know it happens,' she continued clearly. She could hardly wimp out now, it was not as if Frank had misheard her. 'I hear it all the time. Punching, slapping, kicking. I see it often, too. Riff could hardly walk the other day, he had blood all over his back and I saw you climbing a flight of stairs with a bloodied whip in your right hand. I'm not angry, or scared, or upset. I'm not even sure if I'm accusing you, not really. I just want to know why it happens.'

A pair of scissors sat winking at them from the depths of Columbia's bartered hair-styling kit. Both of them, actually, had a horrific intrusive thought of Frank seizing the lethal tool and ramming it through her neck so she'd never address him with such audacity again.

For one of them, it wouldn't be the first time.

Frank often experienced the so-called call of the void when he was around Lessie. Most times, however, they were mainly about her eyes.

The first time, they had been walking around in the garden. Nothing special. Just holding hands, talking about nothing and listening to the sound of each others feet while Frank smoked a cigarette or two. She had simply looked up at him, and Frank thought about taking her eyes. Gouging them out with a spoon would probably be the most sensible way to go about things. Gruesome, but necessary. He'd considered, multiple times, about letting his creature have them. But he soon realised he wouldn't be able to fuck it without being reminded of her, and that would never work. Braking down in a fit of hysteria, sobbing profusely and begging her (if, God willing, she'd be watching) for forgiveness right the middle of really great sex was quite the boner-killer.

If his worst nightmare came true, and there came a time where Frank couldn't have his little mouse and longer... well, it was quite simple really. Nobody else could. Not one person, in the whole wide world.

And if Frank couldn't keep _her_ , he could at least keep her eyes.

This worrying daydream passed so quickly that not even Frank was sure it had really happened (Sprite had seen the tinest little bit of _something_ flicker in front of his eyes, but it was over far too quickly to be sure).

He had, miraculously, set his things down, sat on the end of her bed and pulled her lovingly into his lap.

'He's the reason, Frank said, stroking her hair even more tenderly than usual. 'He's the reason we're still here. He's the reason our longing for our own homes has increased ten fold. He's the reason your own Magenta is always so sad.'

'But I love Magenta...' She whispered sadly. Already she was beginning to feel the tears coming. She never liked to think about the atrocities than any of them had been through before they got here. They all deserved so much more.

Frank was significantly more sympathetic and understanding when he replied, 'I know you do, my darling, and she adores you very much as well. Are you sure you want to hear this?'

She nodded confidently. As if she was going to be kept from this now.

'Well,' Frank began, shifting her to a more comfortable position in his arms, grunting slightly as he did so, 'once upon a time, everything we were sent out here to do, had been done. We had proved ourselves. The mission was finally complete. We all thought we were finally going home. After all this time, the grief, the pain, the suffering, it was all about to become worthwhile. But that devious little hunchback, he..', he sighed angrily, 'he couldn't stand to accept that I had succeeded where he had so often failed. That I had the audacity to surpass him, achieve each and every one of his dreams for him. Driven mad with jealously, that man. Now, whether this fury was to fault for this next act, or whether it was purely accidental, I will never know. However, one way or another, under Riff Raff's own watch, the product got out. He had broken his chains and vanished. We searched and searched but we could not find him anywhere. Until Magenta came flying down the stairs, screeching and screaming for us to follow her and when we got to the stage...'

Frank trailed off emotionally agsin. Sprite knew the room he was talking about. Rather like the indoor cinema she had in her old house. Deck chairs, foot lights. What on earth had happened in there that she'd spent so long oblivious to? Frank stared at thier clasped hands for a long while, and Sprite feared he'd shut down again. Tentatively, she reached out and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. He reanimated, thankfully, and winked at her reassuringly. She didn't miss the tears in his eyes.

'Dozy little thing, he was always I spellbound by _lights_... Stupid lights! He'd climbed right to the top of that tower, for he didn't know his own strength, either. He was so dearly looking forward to seeing that light. And Riff, that vile, inhuman bastard, he, before Magenta or myself could do or say anything else, took the nearest weapon to hand and shot the tower and...'

He chocked back a sob and put his head in his hands. Sprite immediately wrapped her arm around his neck and cradled his head against her shoulder. Frank's fingers tightened around a fistful of her clothing as he grieved, 'And it was such a long way down from the top to the pool, I-!'

He finally broke down then. Sprite had been expecting it, and was almost relieved to have him sobbing helplessly into her shoulder. It wasn't healthy to keep everything buried under such a flamboyant act all the time. Someone had obviously taught him that vulnerability was absolutely never okay. Sprite needed to change that.

'I'm sorry, Frankie, I didn't mean to upset you,' she sympathised sincerely. 'You should've told me no, I wouldn't have minded! Frankie, please don't cry...'

This carried on for a few moments until - all of a sudden - he was fine again. Sat up, breathing deeply, wiping his eyes. He had smeared runny makeup all over her clothes as well as his own face, but other then that he was relatively okay.

'I'm so sorry you had to see that, my darling,' he said, blowing his nose rather unattractively into an expensive-looking handkerchief.

 _Who still owns handkerchiefs?_

'I should never had put you in that position, it was very unfair.' He rubbed his red eyes with one last sigh and slung his arm around her neck appreciatively. 'So now you know. Although,' he grinned, 'you and your forgiving heart, you probably still think that's not an excuse to hurt someone.'

'So you admit that you're hurting him?'

'Yes. But he hurt me.'

Sprite lowered her gaze uncomfortably. She supposed, for someone of that mindset, it did make sense.

'Can I just ask about-?'

'I don't want you getting involved,' he interrupted her. 'I know you'll want to help him sometimes. I adore your indiscriminatory compassion, I really do. That's a noble quality, I don't want you to ever lose that. But what you might see and what you might hear, that is a matter that must be taken up between me and him. He will get every bit of what he deserves.'

'That's not what I was going to say,' she said. She hated hearing him talk about things so cruelly. She absolutely hated it. In a way, she supposed, it was good. That fear that she felt now was her only reminder that he was dangerous. 'All I wanted to say was, when you talked about your... _thing_ ,' Sprite noticed he winced ever so slightly at the term, 'you kept saying 'he'. And now all I can think about is that... however ridiculous it may seem, I just can't help but wonder if you're making a...'

She couldn't quite bring herself to say it.

Frank gave her a quiet little smile. Resigned, he thought. Accepting. She would've found out eventually. He'd be glad to have her know everything. Recently, she'd been complaining that people kept keeping secrets from her as if she was an untrustworthy child. Well, she might always remain a vulnerable child in Frank's eyes, but untrustworthy, she certainly was not.

'A person?'

She jumped.

'Yes.'

Silence.

Then, 'You'd better not laugh at me.'

'I'm not laughing,' Frank said innocently. 'In fact, that's the most intelligent thing I think you've ever said.'

She usually would've laughed. But, this time, she simply couldn't.

'Starting the whole composition up again,' Frank continued. 'Right from scratch.' He wasn't lying when he then told her they already had (and only needed) half a brain. As far as he could tell, Lessie hadn't clocked that it was this very advancement (and Eddie's undignified death) that she felt responsible for. She just didn't have to know that she had walked in on him extracting the _remaining_ half.

Well of course he hadn't randomly decided to kill him just because she was there. As if he would waste an entire human body because of one tiny misdemeanour. She wasn't that special.

'As I said, he's the reason. If it weren't for him, we'd all be living out our days in an accomplished sense of peace.'

'But if it weren't for him, you wouldn't have met me,' Sprite piped up softly. She looked up at him bravely, no longer watching him from under her eyelashes.

Sprite thought he might cry again.

'Surely that counts for something?'

* * *

She mulled over how quickly a simple, sweet conversation could turn into wild, heated, passionate sex, along with other, more important matters ( _A person? An actual person with a brain and a voice and everything? Am I going mad?_ ) as she made her way downstairs, following the regular noise of busy preparation. She hoped to offer a helping hand somehow, rather than just passively going along for the ride.

'Oh, Tink, you look so pretty!'

Columbia's face lit up when she turned and saw her friend at the top of the stairs. She stopped everything she was doing immediately and rocketed forwards to clap her up in an extremely tight hug. Columbia pulled away first, keeping her hands around her upper arms and staring at her almost in awe. 'Tink, I can't get over how beautiful you are! You look amazing! Did you do all that yourself?'

'Well,' Sprite confessed with a grin, 'Frank did it really, but if anyone asks it was all down to me, okay?'

Even Sprite, who was always finding ways to criticise herself after an entire existence of feeling like (and being told) she wasn't good enough, had to admit she did look rather good. She was dressed in a fairly standard corset and stocking set, in a gorgeous shade of rich, bloody purple. Black gloves covered all the way up to her elbow and she teetered on dangerously tall and thin matching stilettos ('They're so shiny I can see my face in them! Isn't that cool?). If she made it through the night without braking her neck, it would be a miracle.

They wanted to make her look as pale and sharply contrasted as possible, and they had certainly achieved. Her smoothly ironed silver locks were piled right on top of her head, scraped into an eye-watering tight bun, wrapped and criss-crossed in intricately woven plaits, featuring a small scattering of purple rose-shaped hair jewellery and two perfect little ringlets that hung about her face in shiny, silver coils. Her makeup was dark, dramatic and flawlessly executed. Having skin as white as hers and using dark, heavily pigmented eyeshadow before packing on loose glitter, she couldn't believe how there was no awful, smudgy fallout that she could never avoid. Her cheekbones could cut glass, her eyes were even more vividly blue with the help of jet black eyeliner and thick, full eyelashes (false, of course). Along with her perfectly sculpted lips in a glossy shade of the same purple as the corset and the accents in her hair and her flawless white skin, she really did look - and feel - as confident as she did formidable.

Columbia nodded, a huge, infectious grin on her face. 'You're doing so much better than me. I remember on my first time I locked myself in the bathroom and I wouldn't come out for three hours.' She laughed. 'I was so nervous I almost crapped my pants.'

They spluttered childishly at the crude joke before Sprite voiced her concerns.

'Actually,' she said, 'I came to see if there was anything I can do.'

Sprite took in the rest of the room for the first time. She assumed Frank would be getting ready now and that Riff Raff was making other important preparations, as she hadn't seen him all day, so for now, it was only Magenta in the room with them.

A banner that read 'Annual Transylvanian Convention' ( _Oh my god_ , she thought, _I_ _feel like I'm at Comic-Con_ ), had been partly secured on the wall directly above a ridiculously ostentatious throne situated on a slightly elevated platform with three sparkly steps leading up it. A large table had been set up to the right of the main attraction, and this was where Magenta was working. Mountains of assorted savouries, cakes and pastries sat on pretty china plates, and Magenta was meticulously running from the kitchen where she would decorate each cake, over to the table where she would use measuring tools to correctly place it with the others with systematic precision, and back. Most of the floor was clear, however. Polished to within an inch of its life. Slippery. And easy to scratch.

Oh joy.

'Actually, there is something.' Columbia turned and pointed to the unfinished banner. 'I need to hang that but I'm running out of tape. Could you go and get some, find out what Riff Raff is doing, and bring down some candles as well?'

'Of course, I can do that. How many candles do you want?'

'As many as you can find.'

* * *

'Oh! My apologies, Riff, I wasn't aware that you were in here.'

The introverted genius had gone upstairs, originally to find out where an awfully biting draft was coming from, but the physical exertion of climbing so many stairs and shuffling along the obscenely long corridors had eventually driven him to half-collapse on to the nearest bed, where he had stayed, wheezing, until now.

Sprite had noticed the way he urgently scrambled to sit up when she walked in - and the overwhelming sense of relief visible on his gaunt, washed-out face when he recognised the intruder as her - but was too polite, and also didn't want to die by letting slip that she now knew of his plight and _still_ did nothing to protect him - to question him on it.

Riff had mixed opinions about his master's shiny new toy, but he did find it mildly amusing when she made a conscious effort to employ an extensive vocabulary and to maintain an air of respective sophistication when ever she was around him.

She stepped into the guest bedroom carefully. 'I was just looking for the...'

Her voice trailed off as concentration took over. She went about quietly ransacking the drawers and storage cupboards until she grunted in satisfaction as found what she needed.

'Candles?' Riff questioned with the finest lilt of kind interest in his voice.

She gave a slight shrug, half-smiling in embarrassment. 'They asked to have them for tonight,' she explained quietly. 'Columbia sent me up here, Frank will know that it's fine-.'

'That's quite alright, miss, you don't need approval from me.'

Riff frowned inwardly as he considered her fear of the master was so great (thought excellently hidden, he had to say) that she felt implied to explain herself with every little decision she made.

'You can... call me Celeste if you want.' Sprite couldn't see (and frankly, didn't _want_ ) Riff Raff calling her anything other than her full, legal name. Any relationship they might be able to form one day would be explicitly formal and oozing respect in comparison to any companionship she already had, or would have, with literally anyone, regardless of whether they lived in the house or not. She offered a small smile. 'I don't need a fancy title. You and I are equals in here.'

Riff didn't quite know what to say, so for once, he was grateful for being interrupted.

'Are you not too hot in that tailcoat?'

Damn. That was even worse. Please, please not that. Anything but that.

As it currently stood, the naive little female was the only person in the house who was unaware that Riff's hump was not real. A lump made of a material that was not of this Earth, exceptionally strong and excruciatingly heavy, was sewn in to Riff's trademark coat. Carrying that thing around on his back twenty four hours a day, sleeping with it, working with it, bathing with it (any situation that required the unavoidable need to remove the coat employed a few leather straps bound at the stomach as a replacement, for he couldn't dream of secretly taking it off with all these cameras around) was absolutely unbearable.

A 'punishment perfectly proportionate to the crime', as it had once been cooed to him all those years ago. To be taken off, to Riff's utter despair, only when the master saw fit.

He would undoubtably be wearing that thing for the rest of his life. The thought, in all its barbarism, frequently brought bitter tears to his eyes.

'Cold-blooded,' he blurted out weakly, employing the most ridiculous stereotype he could think of in hopes the gullible child would take it at face value and leave him alone. 'It's not a bother, miss, really. I appreciate your concern.'

She was about to ask him to call her Celeste again when the door opened.

They both jumped. Only one of them breathed a sigh of relief when Frank peered in curiously.

He beamed when he looked at her.

'Are you alright up here, darling?'

'Yes. Yeah, I'm fine,' she gathered up the candles into her arms and made her way towards the door. 'Riff and I, we were just... just talking.'

His cruel eyes flitted to the man and back.

'Well, isn't that nice?' He beckoned her from the room with a curl of his fingers and Riff heard him instructing Celeste to wear a bracelet. A bracelet that symbolised the sickening possession his criminally insane master had over the poor girl. A bracelet which, if his sister had indeed been telling him the truth, featured the same symbol imprinted on a small charm as was imprinted on the girls own ankle.

Something was brewing. All of this madness - slowly, he could feel it - was coming to a close.

Now was not the right time. He had to wait for it - a shift, a sign, something - before Riff could go any further.

Before Riff could finally tell him.

His master suddenly came dashing in and practically threw him down the stairs.

'The door!' He hissed. 'Get the door, now!'

He sighed as he made his way to the main foyer. He could only prey the time would come soon enough.

* * *

Frank, with a face like thunder, growled in his throat and took a menacing step forward.

An arm thrusted across his chest, restraining him

'I know what you're thinking, Magenta declared. She stepped into Frank's eye-line and clasped his hand. Her own hands were hot and sore this deep into the affair, her grip wavering and slipping from the sweat. 'I know exactly what you're thinking, but don't do it. I mean it. You'd better not do it, Frank, it'll ruin everything.'

He grumbled quietly, looking over Magenta's mop of unruly hair to where his own dear little mouse had been intensely pre-occupied for the past few hours.

Frank wasn't controlling enough to prevent her from talking to _anyone_... or at least, he hadn't been until it had actually happened.

She was sat on the stairs, hugging her knees and laughing, deeply engaged in an apparently very entertaining conversation with another man.

Frank wasn't stupid. He knew that this man in particular - he never did bother to learn his name - was very good looking. Olive skin, dark eyes, _very_ good at talking and even better at tempting.

Not as good as himself though, obviously. That would just be silly.

And from the looks of it, the slimy man had lavished each and every one of his irritatingly effective talents on his darling little mouse, who was absolutely loving all the attention.

Frank had been only mildly irritated at first. He had told himself that it was unfair, even by his own standards, to prevent her from conversing with anyone, and had decided to let this one slide and just keep an eye on the pair for the time being. Truthfully, he had got a bit distracted with hosting, entertaining, charming all the guests and having both the women and the men sit on his knee as he encouraged them to tell him all about whet they'd been up to since they last saw each other. Some were a few months, others were a few decades. Splendid fun, really, so many interesting stories to tell. In fact, he had become so engrossed in his own curiosity that he hadn't looked up, or even thought about them. Until now.

He'd left it too late. If he had followed his instincts instead of letting that little imp soften him again, he would've been able to step in and order the insolent boy away at once. And probably banish him henceforth, for good measure.

'You can't go over now. They haven't stopped talking since he arrived, it'd be obvious what you're doing and she'll go off on one if you try and boss her around again.' Magenta did nothing more than perfectly vocalise his thoughts. Frank, as he mulled over his options, decided he hated his 'loyal' domestic just that little bit more now. 'Don't you think you owe it to her to assume she wouldn't do anything?' She stressed. 'Think of all the shit you've forced her through, all the pressure you've piled on to her, all the mistakes you've made, _and she's still here._ She hasn't even wavered, not once. Let her prove her loyalty to you. Trust her. She trusts you.'

Annoyingly, she did have a point. Frank accepted his defeat with a scoff and pushed Magenta out of the way to greet a wondrously intelligent young woman with a penchant for prostitution and the theatrics, whom had excitedly approved him with open arms. Frank swept her up in an embrace, dipped her until her hair brushed the floor and kissed her heartily on the mouth.

By the time he'd straightened up, Celeste had gone.

* * *

Frank made the excuse of urgently needing to powder his nose, as one may say, to silently slip away from the crowds and locate the fiery runaway. Her male counterpart had vanished along with her, which made Frank a little hurt inside, but mostly made him furious.

He nearly trampled her as she came ecstatically flying from behind a closed door.

'Woah, sorry there, Frank!' She exclaimed as they had to hold on to each other tightly before one of them got hurt. Flushed and panting rather aggressively, she said, 'I don't know what I was worried about, Frankie, I'm having the best time!'

The meaningful look Frank gave her caused her face to drop instantly. Firmly, he asked, 'Have you or have you not been drinking?'

There was no discipline lined up for the confession of this potential misbehaviour. He'd known from the start or was impossible to keep her from having at least one, and he found he didn't really mind. She could be someone else's problem for a while.

Her eyes closed and she sighed - almost as if, Frank thought with a flare in his stomach that was dangerously close to anger - she had been fearfully expecting another question.

'No, I haven't. Actually, maybe I've had, like, one. Possibly two.' She grimaced helplessly. 'Okay I'm really drunk but I'm just really good at acting sober. Especially around you, Frankie, no offender but you're scary as shit when you're pissed off, which doesn't actually need that much to happen, and I thought you'd be really mad at me so I-.'

'Alright, darling, calm down.' Frank spoke with a gentle voice and smiled at her to show he wasn't upset. 'I say we let this one slide. What do you think?'

Her face lit up and she nodded enthusiastically. She even threw her arms around him energetically, and he had to lift her so she wouldn't fall.

He set her down, chuckling, and ruffled her hair fondly before asking, 'What are you up to now, then, my flower?'

Not feeling obligated to hide her intoxication any longer, her explanation that she was making best friends with the dark-skinned man was filled with incoherent slurs, her clutching on to him fearfully as she frequently lost her balance in her expensive shoes and she frequently digressed on completely irrelevant tangents. Highly amusing, though they were.

Without warning, he silenced her with a long, lascivious kiss that tasted like alcohol and decadence, and when he prised her away, she told him that she loved him.

Something shifted inside Frank's very core. He wasn't sure what it was, but he certainly knew what it meant. It was the way he'd felt when he authorised his very first execution. The way he _would_ feel, mere months from now when his laborious tasks finally amalgamated into fruition. And, most importantly, stronger than he'd ever felt it before, it was the way he felt now as he whispered for his latest achievement to run along and play before he slapped her backside as she pranced away tittering.

It as the feeling of success. And Frank just _loved_ success.

* * *

Sprite was worried.

This was far from an abnormal occurrence. Sprite worried about everything. Not getting enough sleep. Sleeping too much. Disappointing her friends. Pleasing them instead, thinking she'd have a reputation to uphold. Having Frank thing she looked unattractive. Having Frank think the exact opposite, for she'd be coerced onto his bed and probably would get out again until the next morning. Having everyone want her to stay in the castle, because she wouldn't he able to get away from her mistake. Having everyone wanting her to leave, because she'd wouldn't last two hours without somebody watching over her and telling her what to do.

But this time, it was different. Sprite was worried about something actually worthwhile.

Dimitri had disappeared.

They had clicked the second he walked in the door and made a kind-eyed, warm-smiled beeline for her obviously uncomfortable form sitting on the stairs because she preferred to watch the scene rather than her involved with it.

They hadn't stopped taking. Around here, at least, it was hard to get two sentences out of her if she wasn't in the right mood. She told him that, and he threw his head back and laughed loudly.

He was another one of the exceptionally flamboyant types which she had grown to adore. They all seemed to love her and they took all the attention for themselves, which was a blessing. He was very tactile with her, which she adored once more, and it took him to pinching her cheek fondly in the way Frank had recently taken to doing for her to suddenly remember she was supposed to stay loyal to Frank, and that made her remorseful. Very remorseful indeed.

She had to awkwardly explain herself and show her esteemed bracelet when he noticed her abrupt change in demeanour, and he, after expressing his intense sympathy and utmost awe of her prestigious position, suggested they go upstairs instead. She have the room an uneasy once over - saw Frank, with a stab of resentful jealousy, sweep a beautiful woman into his arms - and agreed.

They had gone into one of many sitting rooms and Sprite immediately excused herself to collect her thoughts for a second. She didn't tell him this, of course.

In the time it took to run into, and declare her unyielding love for Frank, he had vanished.

Whilst looking for him, she got rather lost.

It was like being trapped inside a kaleidoscope. That was the only way she could think of describing it into anyone who was unfortunate enough to have not been there in person.

People covered head-to-toe in tattoos, people with more piercings than flesh, people with no body modifications at all that were pretty happy with the classic dyed hair and nothing else. People dark enough to blend in with the night's sky if the stood by the window, people pale enough to be used as a nightlight if he power suddenly went out (making even Sprite look like a native Arizonian in comparison). People on bedazzled crutches, people in customised wheelchairs, people with prosthetic limbs, people who'd had limbs amputated and decided against prosthetic limbs at all. People dressed entirely in latex, people dressed in nothing but nipple tassels (Sprite low-key wanted to be best friends with them), people dressed like Disney villains, people dressed like animals.

Hurgh.

People who could pull thier top lips over thier noses, people who could contort themselves to fit inside suitcases (and thought it was hilarious to uncurl themselves menacingly while Sprite had a bit of a breakdown and tried to figure out what deamon she had unintentionally summoned). People with hair that trailed along behind them like the train of a wedding dress, people that didn't have any hair at all an accessorised thier bald heads with candelabras and ornate wine glasses. People that made out with men, people that made sexual advancements towards women, people that fucked whoever had a working set of genitalia and didn't give two hoots who saw, and people that didn't intimately seek out another person at all, and chose to beat themselves off quietly in the corner.

She just felt so normal. And, for the first time, she was ashamed of it.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she found herself staring up at Frank.

'Stalker,' he smirked as moved a lock of hair from her face.

Leaning her forehead against his chest for just a few seconds, she asked, 'Frank, have you seen-?'

'-Dimitri?'

She stuttered slightly. '...h-how did you know I was-?'

Grinning, he motioned towards the door, slightly ajar, behind him. 'He's in there.'

'Oh... it's just that I thought-.'

'Loves you, apparently.' She was cut off yet again, but couldn't help smiling. Raising an eyebrow, he said, 'But you're not allowed to like him more than me, yes?'

She spluttered a laugh at his playfully cross behaviour and quietly asked, 'So what were you doing in there? Were you - talking about me, or-?'

'No, we were having sex.'

She couldn't hide the look of complete shock on her face. Indignantly, she thought, _so I can't have him but you can?_

'You're welcome to join us, if you'd like.'

If Frank found humour in making her squirm, he was having a field day now.

Trying to feign innocence and pretend he hadn't just completely read her mind, she stammered, 'Oh no, Frank, really that's okay. I don't mind - although it's not really my place to mind, you're the boss and all that - I mean, I'm flattered and I certainly appreciate the offer but I-.'

'Celeste,' Frank interrupted her with a very smug expression on his face. 'You know you're a terrible liar.'

* * *

Frank, completely spent, sprawled out on the bed with a relieved groan.

'Oh, Lessie, I'm getting too old for this hosting lark now.'

 _Of course, Frankie_ , she thought to herself with a smile. _That's why you're tired. Not the mind-blowing, strenuous, kinky sex. Just the hosting._

It was just the two of them now. The odd pair, who did love each other, in their own weird, twisted way.

Dimitri had left almost immediately after they called time. They invited him to stay and wind down with them, but he politely declined and slipped away without so much as a thank you.

'Was it something we said?' Sprite had asked after a few minutes of peaceful silence followed his exit. 'Do you think he was jealous?'

'I don't think so, my darling, Frank had reassured her while he was making a big fuss of her, checking her all over to ensure she was alright as he dressed her again. 'I think he was embarrassed.'

'Embarrassed?'

'Yes,' he'd said, kissing her temple after he was finally satisfied that she wasn't too hurt or mentally scarred. 'He came first. What a loser.'

Sprite had slapped him playfully, laughing like a hyena for she'd never heard Frank talk like that before. They reluctantly integrated back into the party of all of two hours before Frank's booming voice ordered everyone out, those who were honoured to stay overnight were allocated a room, and Frank had asked Sprite - just her, nobody else - back up to his room.

They relaxed there now, Frank half-dead and Sprite dutifully lighting candles and drawing the curtains to create a calm, cosy atmosphere within the room before bed.

Frank was just beginning to snore slightly. Aside from that being mildly annoying, he was also fully clothed and in a face full of slap, and Sprite wasn't about to let him sleep like that. He'd be in a foul mood the next morning and take it out on them.

Quietly, she knelt down at the door of the bed and eased off Frank's shoes.

He frowned, giving a soft moan.

'Thank you, my sweet,' he rumbled, turning on his stomach and settling down again.

Luckily though, he stayed still as she carefully removed his stockings and garter belt, had him sit up just slightly to take off his corset, and did what she could with the task of cleansing the face of a sleepy transvestite until he was laying there in nothing but his posh, laced underwear.

The prominent string lines in his back made her wince. If his feet were anything like hers after spending all night in those shoes he was in agony, and even his tired breathing sounded strained and laborious.

'Frank?' She asked softly, suddenly having her heart broken by the strain he was under. 'Frank, are you alright?'

'I'm fine, little one.' He mumbled his reassurance into the pillow without opening his eyes. Reaching out for her blindly, he said, 'Come and lie with me, then, it's time to rest now.'

She struggled with taking her own intricately fashioned clothes off and climbed into the bed beside him.

She didn't lie down, however. She positioned herself as comfortably as she could in order to start rubbing his back.

She could hear the loving smile in his voice as he asked, 'My lamb, what are you doing?'

'I'm trying to do something nice,' she said firmly. 'You always do nice things for me.'

She continued to knead his back, shoulders, neck, anywhere for a while, scored by his blissful moans and proclaims of how much he loved her.

'When did you get so good with your hands?'

They both inwardly smirked at the obvious innuendo, but neither of them said anything.

'Come on now, my love,' he said, turning to face her on the bed she opening his arms. 'You need to sleep as well, my darling.'

She flicked the bedside lamp off and settled down in his arms. Listening to the peaceful rhythm of his breathing and feeling his strong arms around her had to be the most comfortable and safest place in the world.

'I can't thank you enough for tonight, my flower,' Frank whispered into her hair long after she thought he'd already fallen asleep. 'You did so well. I know how nervous you were, and you were brilliant. Perfection, my little mouse, I'm really proud of you. You looked absolutely radiant. They couldn't believe it when I said you were mine. Beside themselves wth jealously, the lot of them.'

'Thank you, Frankie, she sighed, trying to stay awake so she could experience more of Frank gushing over her. 'I'm sorry I've been such a pain lately. I was selfish, I know that now. I didn't realise how much pressure you were under.'

'Shhh, my darling, none of that now. Kissing the top of her head, he said, 'Now is not the time for arguments. It's time to go to sleep.'

She mumbled her agreement. They said goodnight, and after a few moments, she said, 'I still hate you.'

Feeling his laugh more than hearing it, he replied, 'I hate you too.'

It was Frank that broke the silent the second time. The scenario perfectly reminded Sprite of a sleepover, where everyone tried to go to sleep but just end up staring at the ceiling in the dark, wide awake and whispering about absolutely nothing.

'I think he really was jealous.'

Sprite grinned. 'Really? Of whom?'

A beat or two passed.

'Me,' they chorused.

* * *

 **Faces,  
Take your turn, take a ride  
on the merry-go-round,  
in an inhuman race.**

 **Masquerade - The Phantom of The Opera**

* * *

 **I'd rather have written that Frank invited cannibals into his house than a group of fucking Furries. The things I do for my art.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Hello hello I have arrived.**

 **I used to update every few weeks and now it's every few months lmao.**

 **Love and hugs to my wonderful supporters:**

 **LandyShadow - I mean. You review less than a day after posting every single time. I adore you.**

 **Luna - I'm glad they're making up too! It was getting a bit tiring writing turmoil after turmoil. It's refreshing to have some realism in there, mundane as it may seem. I'm glad you think so as well.**

 **Mr. Knightman- finally got to chapter six, my favourite addition! I'm go glad you expressed your opinions so positively, I had a blast writing that one!**

 **And to my PM supporters, Cececat and Hazel Ashwood - Cececat, I'm honoured to be reading your works, and Hazel, you know I love you and I wish you every happiness. #Frite misses you. I know because they told me. Can't wait for your return.**

 **And on we go.**

* * *

Sprite was woken in the early hours of the morning by a noise.

A series of creaks. Bumps. Like someone was moving furniture about. Now, that was very feasible - the house was full of people after all - but she struggled to think of anyone who moved furniture about at four o'clock in the morning.

She listened quietly. Cough. Snore. Sleepy groan. Creaky mattress.

Nothing.

She turned to look at Frank. He had been so painfully exhausted, and had fallen into an extremely deep sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Sprite herself had slept in uncomfortable, irregular intervals: the stress of having so many perfect strangers surrounding her in all her sleepy vulnerability, the unsettling fear of being unable to identify what those creepy sounds were, a dull, lingering ache in her stomach and Frank snoring like an absolute foghorn the entire time proved to make for less than ideal resting conditions.

 _Creak. Thud. Bump-bump-bump. Grooaaaaaann._

She should have dismissed it as the house settling by now. However, that groan sounded very much like a person.

'Frank?' She shook his shoulder gently.

 _Clang._

'Frank?'

 _'No...'_

He stirred, frowning, and shuffled closer to drape a lazy arm around her middle.

Even that gesture, in all its gentle tenderness, caused her stomach to flare up uncomfortably.

In a voice thick and gritty around the edges with sleep, he slurred, 'Mmm, what is it, my love? Did you have a nightmare?'

'Can you hear that?' She whispered. 'That banging sound?'

He stretched, whimpering softly as a few bones cracked, and drawled, 'It's nothing, my sweet. Old pipes.' He was responding to her, but he was still mostly asleep. He hadn't even opened his eyes. He gave her cleavage a sloppy kiss and mumbled, 'Be a doll then, and go back to sleep now, there's a good girl.'

He immediately began to snore again (she thought, with mild amusement, that it was the only time she'd ever seen him doing anything unattractive) almost as soon as he'd stopped talking. He hadn't really awoken in the first place.

Annoyingly, he'd only confirmed what she had already been thinking.

She settled down in his arms again, slipped one of her legs in between his thighs for some security and tried very hard to doze off.

If only she wasn't so nervous. Her stomach cramped and made undesirable noises that seemed impossibly loud in the peaceful silence - and had been doing so since yesterday morning.

She originally wrote it off as immediate after effects from Frank unexpectedly pouncing on her and playing with her like a rag doll. When the pain persisted, she put it down to nerves. And when she was snuggled up in what she knew to be the safest place in the world, as close to Frank as she could possibly be without making love to him (which they actually couldn't resist doing despite their obvious fatigue, two times before going to sleep) and even then it still wouldn't go away, she began to suspect otherwise.

She scolded herself. Said it was just her overactive imagination. She was in a highly unfamiliar and unwanted situation, and when everything went back to normal (as it would that same day - although she had yet to be informed of the regular 'normal' parties they took so much pleasure in frequently hosting. Her unprecedented arrival and messy adjustment period created the longest interval there'd ever been between these tame affairs) her body and mind would settle down as well, and she could finally focus all her energy in creating somewhat of a normal life for herself.

For the first time in her life she has a family. She had a sense of belonging. And for her, someone who felt too old and sad to play tag when she was just six years old and didn't expect to see her eleventh birthday, that was all she needed.

* * *

Frank came to himself slowly. He didn't remember much of the previous night. For some reason he had a really vague memory of someone giving him a massage. His awareness went straight from that relaxing bliss to waking up the next morning. He half-suspected that his drink had been spiked with something, for he'd never slept that deeply for so long before.

But that was laughable. He didn't get drugged. He did the drugging.

Speaking of, he stretched out blindly to pull her against him and instead, found her side of the bed empty and cold. Strange. She almost never woke up before him, and on the rare occasions in which she did, she wouldn't leave his side. Especially during these few unpredictable days.

She absolutely adored waking up by his side. He would watch her sleeping - there would always be something so utterly enthralling about having something so small and innocent-looking so near to him all the time. He took great pleasure in simply savouring how exposed and vulnerable she was to him in those naively peaceful moments. So little and so helpless - for as long as he wanted before waking her. Usually by stroking her hair or peppering her with gentle, slightly ticklish kisses until she'd stir, smile, and swat him away.

The next ten or fifteen minutes were usually filled with cuddling, whispering and coaxing when she inevitably complained about having to get up and didn't want him to leave either.

The idea of throwing away all responsibility and staying in a warm, safe bed with her for the day seemed incredibly appealing; especially on this day.

She would finally be getting what she wanted. Which only made it even more ironic that she'd disappeared.

It didn't make any sense.

He briefly entertained the thought of her starting her day unprompted, leaving him to sleep in peace as she must've sensed how tired he was. She could easily be in the kitchen now, helping Magenta with the copious amounts of breakfast food to be cooked, or striking up a conversation with one of the estranged guests in order to help them feel as comfortable and welcome as possible.

But that idea made even _less_ sense. It was Celeste he was talking about: the girl who still had the common childhood fears of her own shadow and absolutely refused to sleep in a room with blackout curtains.

Or she was just drunk. No surprise at all.

A series of doors slamming, almost in perfect canon, reminded Frank that he actually had a role to perform today. He only became even more disoriented when he (after very nearly yelping at such an unpleasant surprise) caught sight of himself in the vanity mirror with not a scrap of makeup on.

In a frustrated huff, he flounced to the bathroom (as if he hadn't slept late enough, he now had to spend even more time putting his face on again - something that was completely unnecessary and could've been avoided altogether had _someone_ refrained from interfering with his normal routine!) and found the door wouldn't open.

He tried it again. Still nothing.

 _What the fuck?_ He thought irritably. Why wouldn't the door open? Was it stuck, or had someone broken it? _Ooh_ , he really wasn't in the mood for this today. He almost couldn't believe it himself how quickly he had gone from feeling warm and cozy to feeling like he could kick the first person who looked at him wrong down the stairs and now this _fucking_ door needed fixing...

A slight cough came from the room which he was unable to enter.

 _Ohhh_. Of course. _This_ was where she'd been hiding.

He hit his palm rapidly, and very loudly, against the door. Somewhere in the very outskirts of his mind he considered being more gentle and understanding with his nervous little mouse, but now was really not the time.

'Celeste,' he called, hoping the immediate use of her real name would shake her up as much as she once told him it did. 'Celeste, open this door.'

Nothing. As far as he could tell, she wasn't even breathing.

'Celeste, ignoring me is not going to get you anywhere, and I'd strongly suggest you drop this pathetically childish act before you regret it.'

He had consciously employed his best 'disciplinarian' persona, and even that didn't stir so much as a whimper.

'I can't.'

Oh. Until now.

Frank sighed, defeatedly exhausted all of a sudden, and leaned his forehead against the door.

'Yes, you can,' he reassured her firmly. 'Yes, you can. You've made it this far. Two weeks ago you were telling me the very idea made you feel ill, but you _overcame_ that. You _did_ it. Surely you can keep going for just a few more hours? Please, darling? For me?'

'Frank, I can't do it!' She stressed tearfully. 'Please don't make me...'

'Why not?' He asked tenderly. 'Why the sudden change in attitude?'

Startling Frank to the extent that he almost lost his balance after lurching away so suddenly, his usually docile and demure little mouse almost screamed, 'Because I don't _want_ to!'

Delivering an almighty kick to the door upon a complete reflex, he spat, 'How dare you be so selfish? Do you think any of us want to be doing this? To be in this situation? To be cruelly separated from our homes, our companions, our loved ones? To be prevented from having any sort of contact with the ones who mean the most, sometimes for _years_ at a time? No, of course you wouldn't,' he grumbled furiously. 'Although,' he sneered, 'I suppose you wouldn't understand. Someone of _your_ background would never have known any different.'

'I'm not coming out,' she stated calmly. There was not the slightest waver in her voice. She must be getting used to his degrading tendencies by now.

That would never do.

'Shall I break this door down?' He growled, dangerously close to the end of his tether now. 'You know I'm more than capable of doing it, _mousey_.'

'Fine then,' she responded confidently, but ( _finally!_ ) unable to hide the heartbroken tremors in her voice at her favourite pet name having been laced with such disgust. 'Tear the fucking thing from its hinges for all I care. But bare in mind that everyone will see the conditions you're living in, and conclude that it would be unsafe for you to continue any experimentation.'

Frank stuttered. He actually stuttered. For the first time ever, she really did have a point. Everything had to stay perfectly pristine - one wrong move and the whole lot would be axed, just as he'd explained to her.

He wouldn't go as far as to say she was controlling him, but he certainly didn't have as much control over her anymore. Not in that moment, at least. She had been anticipating being with him at his weakest moment, been slyly scheming away for goodness knows his long, and had seized the opportunity to heartlessly exploit him for it.

Had Sprite heard any of this, she would've laughed. Sobbed first. Then laughed.

In (literally) any other situation, Frank wouldn't been quite proud of her. He hadn't known she could be so clever, and didn't think she had it in her to be so vindictive.

Now, however... now he was utterly enraged.

He delivered another wordless, brutal kick to the door - the frame shook and tremored - and stormed away.

His body physically shook with fury, his breath came in short, sharp pants and even his vision was affected.

How dare somebody undermine his authority like that? Just how... _how dare they?_

After _everything_ he'd done for her! _Every_ time he sat with her till gone midnight discussing guilty feelings, _every_ time he'd ignored his other girls to spend more time with her, _every_ time he'd patiently coaxed the bottle from her convulsing hands and guided her through the temptation!

All the times she'd slept in his bed because she was too frightened to sleep alone. All the times he had let acts of misbehaviour slip by unnoticed because he was willing to do anything to make her happy. All the times he'd told her that he loved her.

Not to say he ever meant it.

* * *

A man was a convenient distance away, jogging up the stairs on a hunt for a recently lost nose ring at the time of this oncoming temper tantrum. As if his imposing height and heterochromia didn't make him distinctive enough (one ice blue iris created a strikingly beautiful contrast against the deep chocolate brown one) he also happened to be one of the extremely rare people privileged enough to call Frank his friend.

The odd characters had been close for a long while now. Aside from automatically getting invited to all the most prestigious events, savouring the knowledge of how jealous everyone else was and having virtually anyone throw themselves at his feet for even a glimpse of that desperately desired lifestyle, he also knew exactly what to do whenever Frank got himself into the state he was in now.

One took but a fleeting glance at the other, thundering down the corridor, disengaged and trembling with rage, and instantly ushered him into the nearest vacant room, quickly locking the door behind them with frantic fingers.

He could do no more than watch as Frank tore the room apart. He hurled ornaments, he made three ugly holes in the wall, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

And just like that, he burnt out. Exhausted. Gone. As if nothing had happened in the first place.

He collapsed in a defeated heap, too drained to walk two steps to a chair. Hugo, a dear, _dear_ friend, sat with him on the dirty wooden floor and kept a firm grip on Frank's burning hand as he sobbed silently into the other.

'It's so hard,' he whispered. 'It's so hard.'

'What happened?' Hugo asked, moving closer and sitting back on his heels. 'Is it the stress? Because I can promise you everyone is so impressed with you, Frank, I even heard someone say it was the best one they'd been to. You knew this was going to be difficult. And as far as the project goes, there's no concerns there at all. You've outdone yourself, dear, please don't be so hard on yourself.'

'It's not that,' Frank said. He had only just mustered the strength to talk again. Lifting his head was still too difficult. He gave a great, heaving sigh. 'It's her.'

'Her?'

'The girl. Small one with silver hair. She's mine.'

Although Hugo encouraged Frank to go one when he sensed he was faltering, the man couldn't help but to raise a surprised eyebrow.

He knew Frank. He'd known him for years - not as long as Magenta, but he didn't think anyone could surpass that. In short, Frank was a sort of mentor to him. He knew what Frank liked. What Frank looked for in a person. In men, he was attracted to muscle, and lots of it. He liked masculinity in the traditional sense: someone who was brave and strong and protective. In females, it was not that different. He was strongly attracted to full figures, quick wit, independence and confidence.

 _This_ girl, however, had none of those things.

He recalled seeing her for the first time last night, and almost did a double take. From the corner of one's eye, she honestly did look like a ghost.

She was without a doubt the thinnest girl he'd ever seen. No breasts, no hips, arms and legs like matchsticks. Now, having a small frame was fine, as long as it was _healthily_ so. Her startling figure along with skin so pale some veins were visible (in the correct lighting), her skin was icy cold to the touch and he hadn't seen he eat or drink a thing all night. In short, she just looked quite ill.

If he didn't know any better, he would've suspected her to be a vampire. But that was stupid. The Transylvanians had gotten rid of their kind centuries ago.

Frank would never have even looked at someone like her before, let alone take her under his wing as his own little pet. This only made Hugo worry that something else was going on here.

Something worse.

'Painfully shy, poor thing.' Frank continued to speak, bringing Hugo back to reality. Yet another concerning factor - Frank was about as compatible with shyness as he was with denim. 'She's locked herself in the bathroom. She won't come out, no matter how hard I try. And I'm not completely heartless - I am sensitive to how scary all of this must be for her - but she needs to start cooperating soon, otherwise... well, I don't know.'

Frank sighed again, finally able to lift his head and look his friend in the eye. 'She says things, when she gets agitated. She doesn't understand how hurtful her words can be sometimes.'

Hugo couldn't help it this time. He turned away sharply, clenching the inside of his cheek _hard_ between his teeth. As utterly dumbfounded by Frank's blatant hypocrisy as Hugo was, now more than ever was the most important time not to incredulously laugh.

He cleared his throat quietly and asked, 'What made you decide?' Changing the subject before things got any worse. 'Why did you let her stay?'

'It was an accident,' he responded immediately. It was almost as if he'd been impatiently waiting for someone to finally get the hint and ask him. 'I wasn't planning on having anyone new. Those three together are obscenely infuriating enough as it is, and with such a monumental task ahead of me, another permanent one was the last thing on my mind. One night, completely out of the blue, she somehow finds her way here and stirs up the most dramatic scene. I honestly didn't believe it was real. I thought I was dreaming.' He chuckled colourlessly and continued. 'She was drunk when she came to me.' He shook his head forlornly at the dusty floorboard. 'So obscenely drunk.'

* * *

Frank was just a second too late at dashing forwards to catch her. The dumbfounded mistake resulted in him seizing her waist, but with one clumsy arm only, causing her head to rock forwards at an alarmingly high speed and smacking it very roughly into the wooden dresser before her in consequence.

He had to lower the child's body onto the floor completely before adjusting his grip on her limp form and hoisting her up properly. Now carrying her bridal style, her head hung at a severe angle over the crook of his arm. He could clearly see her eyes, half open even in her drunken state, and the grotesque way in which they rolled into the back of her head. Her dry, cracked lips remained slightly parted. She stank of alcohol and cheap perfume.

This was not good.

'Magenta!' He called urgently, finally snapping out of his daze. 'Magenta, get in here now!'

He carefully sat down on the bed, keeping the unresponsive girl nestled securely in his lap. He began attempting to rouse her (stroking her hair, rubbing her arms, softly murmuring reassurance to her) just before Magenta stormed in.

'What the _fuck_ is going-!' Magenta was faltered both by Frank ferociously shushing her and by the shock of seeing a seemingly dead stranger in his arms. 'What's going on?' She asked, clearly very unsettled by the abrupt shock of it all. 'Who the fuck is that?'

Frank gestured for her to keep her voice down and gave her an incredibly meaningful look. 'I'm just as confused as you are,' he reminded her softly. 'I don't know how this happened. She just appeared out of nowhere, but we have to help her. Look at her, just look at the state that she's in.'

The woman nodded once. 'What are we to do?'

He replied, 'Go and see what Columbia's doing - don't disturb her if she's sleeping. If she is awake, tell her that everything's okay, but she just needs to stay in her room. Send your brother to me, and you -' he pointed to the girl's small bag that had been dropped at her feet ' - can look in there. See if you can find some personal information for me.'

As if on cue, her phone started to ring.

The sudden noise and the ferocity of the vibration against the wooden floor caused them both to violently jump - Magenta even let out a small scream - and the girl finally began to stir.

They both inhaled sharply.

Frank was quicker to react this time. He flapped a frantic hand at his domestic, who scooped up the bag in both hands before obediently dashing out of the room.

Frank gently brushed the girl's hair from her face. 'Mouse?' He whispered. 'Darling, can you hear me?' She continued to move and writhe sluggishly - alert enough to wriggle restlessly but not yet enough to respond. Uncomfortable frowning and the occasional groan was all he had to go by in the ways of communication.

He continued to murmur unthreatening words of reassurance to her, for she was almost certainly able to hear every word he said. 'You've had a bit of a nasty shock, but it's all over now. Don't be afraid, little one, I won't hurt you. I'll keep you safe until morning...'

In between softly cooing and gently rocking, Frank began to think of the practicalities.

How long had she been away from home? There could be scores of people searching for her now: her phone frequently ringing the way that it did made that suspicion more plausible. If a search party ended up here, one might console themselves with the concealment surrounding the house, but what if some of them had been to the house before? Frank was always hosting parties for the general public (in this case, 'general' being whatever gutter rats Columbia seduced from the street), and any one of them could've had their memories erased since then. They wouldn't know where they were but they would damn well see a castle and that was all they didn't need.

People would come. They'd flock like sheep: authorities would be alerted, the media might get involved, any number of her friends and family would want to have their say.

In short, publicity. And when a group of humans are informed about the existence of aliens, there was only one way left to go.

All that work for nothing. All that heartache for nothing. All that travesty for absolutely nothing.

But then, another thought came to him: suppose she didn't wake up?

Frank had no clue what had gone on before she came to him. Had she taken anything? Had she been in a fight? Had she been on the streets for a dangerously long time? Had she planned this unconventional method of escapism only to fail in taking her own life because they'd got in the way?

She could die.

What on earth would they do if that happened? What would they do with the body? How would they alert anyone without putting their own lives in jeopardy in the process? A murder enquiry would surely follow and then... oh fuck, then what?

They would either come looking her alive or find her dead. Their cover would be blown, poor Columbia would be abandoned to fend for herself. They'd have to leave her wondering what she did wrong. As for them... well, if things ever got to that point, Frank probably wouldn't care what they did to him anymore.

It was almost inevitable that Frank would lose.

Except, Frank didn't lose.

There was only one feasible option. An easy decision, really. Certainly not unwelcome either, this terrified little thing was exceptionally gorgeous.

He would just have to make her stay.

The girl sat bolt upright, extremely violently, and heaved an excruciatingly desperate gasp for breath. Frank grunted a little in surprise and tried very hard not to drop her.

Seized by desperate fear, she screamed and she wailed and she hollered like the whole world was caving in. Frank dealt with her violent kicks and scratches (as she hadn't realised she was more than safe with him yet) while listening to hysterical cries of, 'Get away, get the fuck away from me, don't touch me, let go of me you fucking bastard!' Until Frank somehow managed to shift her so she was facing him, put his strong arms around her very firmly indeed and tuck her head under his chin.

'Shhh, shhh, it's alright, little mouse, it's alright... you're safe now, Frankie's got you... I'm not going to hurt you, my darling, you'll be safe with me until morning...'

Frank patiently rocked her, hummer a soothing tune to her and gently rubbed her back in an effort to soothe her.

She didn't stop screaming for a very long time.

Her hysterical shrieks eventually began quieting down into unsettled whimpers. She was restless, clinging on to him as if he was the only one she had, and kept her face vigorously buried in his shoulder.

'That's it, good girl... settle down now, we don't want you making yourself ill... be brave and hold on for a little while longer - you're safe, remember, you're safe - don't worry so, my sweet baby, I'll get you home in the morning...'

It seemed as soon as the word 'home' passed his lips, she began to cry again. This time however, sickeningly so, they were cried of utter, unadulterated despair.

There were long breaks of silence - filled instead by gyrating shoulders and scrabbling hands - between each increasingly heartbroken wail. Frank could feel that she had turned her head to lay on his shoulder instead of hiding in it, and now she was just miserably sobbing. Frank himself was starting to feel teary eyed at the unspeakable predicament of this poor innocent child, but he did his best to comfort her.

'Alright, darling, alright... just let it all out, it's okay... you must try to be brave little one, I'm here for you... hush now, pet... shhh...'

When she blessedly relaxed against him with a shuddering sigh, without ceasing to rock her once, he sighed, 'Oh, my poor little mouse, how on earth did you end up here?'

'I can't.' The first word out of her mouth was heavily slurred and barely coherent, but she was speaking nonetheless. 'Too hard.'

'I know these times are difficult times, darling,' he whispered, 'but it does get better. It will get better. I promise you that.'

All of a sudden she shrieked, 'I never fucking had anyone!' and began to get extremely agitated again. Frank jumped a mile but immediately massaged her hair - a concerned frown masking his features - to try and keep her calm. 'It's alright for everyone else, they have their families there for them! I didn't. I don't. _I never have and I never will!_ '

He soothed, 'Shhh, baby, it's okay.'

No, it's _not_ okay!' She started hitting him again as her hysteria increased once more. In this case, the 'attack' was pitifully half-hearted, but she clearly had a black streak of violent tendencies. 'All my life I've had to look after myself! I didn't have a childhood! I'm so fucking tired of just coping all the time, one caring person is all I've ever asked for and I still don't even have that!'

Frank saw Magenta push the door open a crack and quietly place her phone (along with a full glass of water and what looked like a bowl of soup) on the bed stand. Frank beamed an incredibly grateful smile at her and winked - _we'll talk through this later_ \- before she slinked away again.

'Hush now... don't cry, little one,' he murmured. 'I'm here for you. I'll be you family until morning.'

Frank was incredibly mindful to take nothing she said at face value - her alcohol level was in the extremes, and all of this despair was probably an aspect of the drink talking.

Frank felt like he's been mindlessly repeating himself the whole time, for he continued to coo the same gentle words and reassuring phrases until he thought she'd fallen asleep in his arms. A thick, heavy silence followed. Forty minutes had elapsed since the door was thrown open. Ten more minutes passed before she began to stir again. Feeling more confident this time, Frank coaxed her into sitting back, she finally allowed herself to be prised away from him.

She was beautiful, this girl. So very intriguing as the dim moonlight caught the light from her glistening tears and every lightning struck revealed a quick flash of her vivid blue eyes.

Such a shame. Such beauty. Such potential. Such a waste of a life.

'Now then, little mouse,' he began gently, 'let's sort you out. You need to drink a lot of water and perhaps try and eat something as well? I know your stomach probably doesn't feel up to it now but you'll feel miles better for it in the morning.'

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Frank questioned why he even bothered being so excessively caring towards her. She probably wouldn't remember a damn thing the next day.

'You can sleep in here. I won't leave you alone unless you want me to, and in the morning, we'll get you back home.' Something compelled him to cup the girl's sickly-looking face in his gentle hands and promise, ' _You are safe now_. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. You believe that, don't you?'

She nodded once. Looking at him but not really seeing. Spaced out beyond comprehension.

Again, he questioned.

Magenta reappeared again, placing an empty bowl on the floor next to the stand - presumably to be used when the girl needed to vomit. Magenta jumped a mile at the unexpected sight of the girl awake, and snuggled up in her master's embrace of all things. The girl had the same reaction, and reflexively clung on to Frank tightly and buried her face in his chest.

The maid slipped out (hopefully for the last time), matching endeared grins on both faces of the aliens. Frank feigned chocking noises until his little mouse quickly let go, and was over the moon to hear her giggling softly. He explained away the housemate's presence, reassured her for the thousandth time, and succeeded in getting her to drink one whole glass of fresh water all at once.

She brought it back up a few minutes later.

Sigh. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

'And she never left,' Frank finished with a rather sentimental glimmer in his eyes. 'She's still here because I want her around. I wasn't sure what to expect with her, but as it happened, she surprised me.'

Hugo was staring intently at Frank now. Slightly bewildered. Had anyone looked over, they would have assumed Frank was doing what he did best with an attractive male counterpart, and that for whatever reason, it wasn't going very well. Not one of those onlookers would've expected to see Hugo again.

In reality, he had simply never heard his companion talk like that before. Frank was notoriously ruthless with the way in which he selected the 'lucky' ones to keep around. He would invite people for a good shag and usually some ego-inflating (which is why he always pitied the damaged ones. Attachment issues, substance abuse, broken childhoods. They, with their weak minds, were so much easier to exploit. Not that Hugo agreed with it. He detested that black streak in his friend. But it was not his place to say anything), but the ones he kept around were only there because they could obviously fulfil a certain need of his.

So far, it had only been the hyperactive tap-dancer. And that was only because he was too self-entitled to even dream of doing his _own_ shopping...

It was such a flimsy reason to stay around, and the poor, used girl seemed to know that. She was always going above and beyond the expectations of a normal companion (a friend or a lover, the labels frequently changed) in a desperate attempt to constantly appease him and guarantee her place for another month or so.

The other two didn't have to fight as hard.

Hugo had known Magenta for almost as long as Frank had, and it was obvious what she was here. The resilience of their unorthodox friendship (even by Transylvanian standards) had forced them to have a begrudging respect for one another. That was part of it. But Hugo had been to countless exhibitions in his time, and he had yet to see, or even hear of, anyone that performed as well as she did. Sexual education was mercilessly drummed into them the same was prayer was in a Catholic school, so it certainly wasn't hard to become good at the craft. Some people, however, are just born with it.

And the hunchback, well, he could only assume that he served Frank with the needs that were the most crucial of all: because that was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, and if Frank had been keeping him around for pleasurable recreational reasons this entire time, Hugo would have to accept that he didn't know his friend at all.

Which begs the question: what did Frank need?

From the outside looking in, he had everything. It wasn't like they were spending the rest of thier lives here. This arrangement was perfect to hold him over until he returned home. What could that scrawny little human girl, an apparent raging alcoholic who was too scared to be in a room full of strangers, possibly be providing him?

'Nobody came looking for her then?' Hugo promoted.

Frank sighed. 'Nope. Not a hint of unrest at all. Turns out it was just generic people ringing her that night - no one of any importance. As far as I know, her mother doesn't even realise she's gone. She was never acknowledged when she was there, from what I've heard.'

Hugo watched as his friend's hands trembled and he thought he might cry again.

'It's just so frustrating. It astounds me how people can be like that. I didn't know she existed a few months ago and I'm already hopelessly attached, I can't even bare the thought of her being distressed. I just have to take care of her. Which is why,' Frank finally stood up and smoothed out his hair, 'it infuriates me to no end that decent, loving parents try for years and years to start a family, and people like _that_ can just get them without a hitch.'

Frank left the room in a flounce and Hugo followed suit.

'And now,' Frank led them back towards his room as he really needed to put his face on, 'my poor Lessie is paying the price. D'you know, she barely received an education, she inherited the drinking problem from her mother, and she's _always_ had to fend for herself? She told me that she would often have to take money out of her purse to feed herself, complete strangers were in the house all the time - which explains why this situation petrifies her - she's been exposed to drugs, domestic violence, sex scandals, all of it. And more.' Frank heaved a great sigh, suddenly exhausted by all the turmoil. 'All that and she's only eighteen. Barely out of childhood. All I can do now is make up for lost time. No child should have to beg to be loved.'

Frank stopped so suddenly that Hugo clumsily stumbled into him.

'Oh.' Frank was staring at the open door of his bathroom, a pleasantly surprised expression on his face. 'She's gone. She _was_ hiding away in there. Poor thing, she's so scared. I can reassure her and soothe her till I'm blue in the face but she can't get it into her head that some people are actually decent people. She doesn't trust anyone, she thinks everyone wants to hurt her, but at the same time, she's so petrified of abandonment that she won't even sleep by herself. I question my desicions every day, I never know if it's the right thing to do...'

He trailed off sadly.

Hugo clapped his friend on the shoulder. 'I think you should give yourself more credit,' he said sincerely. 'So many people would've given up by now, or refused to take on the challenge at all. You didn't. What you're doing now, that's solely for her. And I'm incredibly thankful that we have people like that in this world.' He sighed heavily. All this drama had suddenly exhausted him. 'We need more people like you, Frank. The world is messed up enough as it is. I'm just wondering, if she's so resentful of other people, how on earth did she come to trust you?'

'I don't know,' Frank answered honestly. 'I really don't know.' Frank shifted into talking mostly to himself as he mused, 'I can't imagine were she's run off too, though, hopefully Columbia's with her, she knows how to take care of herself...'

Frank slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Hugo sat on the end of the bed as he decided he'd wait for him - he was rather enthralled by this situation.

He did enjoy having these discussions with Frank. It wasn't often that Frank let people see past his flamboyant, independant exterior. The overtone of this particularly intriguing conversation was selfless. Raw. Emotional.

But Hugo knew better.

Frank has always been unnervingly skilled at conditioning his own mind into believing things that weren't true. That's what made his previous work so impressive. No morals. Therefore, what Frank said seemed heartfelt and genuine, but he had convinced himself that all of this had occurred for the wellbeing of the young girl. In Frank's mind, he was practically a saint. He quite enjoyed helping others, he might do this more often.

In reality, Hugo knew, it was a thirst for power. That's all it was, and all it ever would be. Everyone knew his once all-ruling dominance had been slipping. Frank needed to feel like he was in control again. And if that meant emotionally manipulating a troubled soul, deceiving her into loving him like she'd never loved anyone before, and exercising his totalitarian, unquestionable authority over her whenever he felt like it, then that's what Frank would do.

Hugo played along, though. That was much easier.

* * *

Sprite cringed at the squeamish task ahead of her.

'Ooh, I'm so sorry.' The mutilated man in front of her repeatedly winced and hissed as she peeled the soiled tailcoat away from the scarred back - fighting hard to keep her stomach in place with the sound of the material slowly ripping away from the dried blood that glued it there. She ripped the last bit off quickly, like a plaster, and he cried out in torment.

'Okay, I know this really hurts but try and be quiet.' She dampened a sponge in lukewarm water and dabbed at the angry red slashes as gently as she could. 'Please, Riff Raff, in already in so much trouble and Frank'll kick me bowlegged if he catches me doing this as well.'

'I didn't ask you to do this.'

 _Right_ , she thought to herself bitterly. _I'm obviously the selfish one_. _I could've sauntered on by when I heard you groaning, but instead I risked my own safety to help you. I don't have to be doing this. The least you can do, you tiny, tiny little man, is keep your mouth shut._

She wanted to hit him. Her arm was raised, she was just about to harshly elbow him between the shoulder blades for speaking so audaciously out of turn.

That thought flickered across her mind almost simultaneously as she realised that's what Frank would've done.

He had given her a lot, and he could be overwhelmingly gentle and loving at times, but no way in hell was she going to turn out like him.

What on earth was she doing, having thoughts like that? It wasn't his fault Frank had flown off the handle again, and no one deserved this. She was beginning to sound more like him, she had to admit that. Didn't want to, not at all, but she had to. It was the stress, that was all. Guilty if she stepped in and guilty if she ignored it. Either way, she'd be the one most affected by the decision.

Sometimes, she really hated Frank for making her feel like this.

Once the craters in his back were fairly clean ('What happened this time?' 'Made a scratch in the floor.'), Sprite carefully unraveled the bandages, mindful not to tangle them, and cut them precisely. The soft _snip - snip - snip_ of the material separating was oddly comforting to her, and she focused on that instead of what she was actually doing. Perhaps the sound reminded her of cutting her own hair. One of the only things in her life she had any control over.

Hairstyles and alcohol consumption. What a pairing.

She bandaged them up as well as she could, and she had to admit she'd done a pretty good job.

'Do you want some painkillers?'

'No. Thank you.'

'Where does this go?' She pulled the artificial hump towards her - dragged it noisily along the tiled floor. It was too heavy for her to pick up.

'Let Magenta have it. My coat, also. She'll know what to do with it.'

Riff Raff either forgot to put his shirt back on to hide the illegal bandages or he simply didn't care, for he heaved himself into a standing position and walked out without so much as a backwards glance.

Even without the weight on his back, his spine was still at a curve. He probably wouldn't walk properly ever again.

Ah well. Drama before her time.

Now for the tricky part: she had to get Riff's hump and tailcoat to Magenta, who could be absolutely anywhere, and ensure it was safely stored away, all without being seen. In a full house. Filled with dangerously observant people. One person in particular, whom she'd royally pissed off already today.

She scooped the garments up in both hands and carefully exited the smallest, dirtiest bathroom of them all. Riff Raff surely did live up to his name. As if the dregs of society weren't enough, he also got the dregs of everything else. She wondered if that was his real name, or simply a pet name (cruel and degrading as it was) that had stuck over time, much like the scenario with her?

Sprite was knocked flat point one seconds after exiting the room. Arms reflexively splayed (the hump flew one way and the coat slid another) she squealed and shrieked through tightly pressed lips as a heavy, wet tongue lathered all over her face.

A slight commotion of quick footsteps and incoherent telling-off preluded the giant thing climbing off of her.

'Sylvie, I am so sorry!' She heard Magenta's genuine apology, but she could tell her friend was laughing. 'Are you hurt?'

She blinked her eyes open warily. She sat up saw Magenta fastening a collar around the neck of a rather large dog and tugging its ear once to scold it.

Her stomach was just starting to get better and now it was sore again. Man.

'No,' Sprite wheezed, accepting Magenta's outstretched hand to help her up and dusting herself off. 'Could probably do with some fragrance, though.' She eyed the animal suspiciously, who was now sitting obediently, panting in a way that made it look like it was smiling, and _drooling_. So much drool. So much of it. 'Why didn't you tell me you had a dog?'

'I have five, actually,' 'Magenta answered proudly. 'They live in the kennels, which are _riiigghhttt_ at the back of the garden.' She made a swooping hand gesture to illustrate the distance. 'I would've released the dogs earlier, but I was waiting for the right time. Plus, everyone is a sucker for these guys, which is why I picked today.

The five dogs Magenta owned were a Stafordshire Bull Terrier (the one that had been overjoyed to see her), a Rottweiler, a Siberian Husky, a Saint Bernard - and a Pug. That was Columbia's one-year-of-loyalty-reward, apparently.

'Yeah, I bought them for protection, but they're big softies, really. The others are in the living room, if you want to see them? Some people gave been asking after you,' she grinned. 'You obviously made a good impression.'

 _How?_ She thought. _I didn't do anything._

'Magenta, I have Riff's back thing and coat here. He suggested I give them to you. You won't tell Frank that I helped him, will you?'

'No, it's fine,' she replied casually. 'I heard the beating but there's not much I can do about it.' She took the garments from Sprite and smiled. She couldn't help noticing, with a strange sort of discomfort, that it was the first smile she'd seen that didn't seem forced.

'I think Riff's gone to his room now.'

'Right. Frank won't notice, not with the pets out. He loves animals.'

Sprite couldn't help but laugh. Frank clearly thought animals had more feelings than humans. Usually it was the other way around.

'Yes, we bring them inside occasionally, but they just get so much fur everywhere. They're well fed and well cared for, but they haven't had house time in a while - you know, after everything that's been going on and I didn't know how you were with animals.' The Staffordshire plodded over to her and nuzzled into her hand. She patted it apprehensively and found it was quite gentle. 'If there's any time to be around Frank, it's now. He's so excited to pamper them again, he's like a child. Plus, it relaxes everyone and creates a nice atmosphere. Decreases the likelihood of anyone noticing potential mistakes.' Magenta winked at her with a smug grin. 'I'd better check on Riff, I suppose. Thank you so much for helping him.'

She gave her a quick hug, handed the dog's lead over to her and strolled away.

Sprite uncertainly followed the sounds of simpering coos and general happiness. According to the collar, the dog was called Persephone, and she followed along docilely. Sprite hoped that having the dog with her as she unexpectedly waltzed in would take some of the attention away from her. The knot of guilt was still uncomfortably tight in her stomach - the last thing she wanted was for Frank to cause a scene.

She poked her head silently around the corner and was greeted by the most surreal of heart-warming sights.

General guests from last night peppered the room in small groups. Some were talking amongst themselves, some were eating, some were playing with the other dogs, and some were cuddling or making out with one other.

Most, however, were watching the middle of the room, laughing and smiling at the scene unfolding on the floor.

The Siberian Husky Magenta had mentioned before had flopped down on the floor, lying on its side looking quite content. Frank was sprawled out beside it, literally spooning the dog with his head half-concealed by the thick, white, fluffy fur. He had the stupidest grin on his face, eyes closed in pure happiness, and didn't seem to care at all that mostly everyone was laughing him.

'I've missed him!' Frank said in response to everyone's teasing. 'I love my Razor.'

This was the only time Sprite was glad to have remembered about the cameras everywhere. She would find a way to preserve this and blackmail him with it forever.

She dropped Persephone's lead in the doorway and she immediately trotted over to have a nosy over what was going on.

She snuffled over Razor and Frank instantly sat up to shower her with attention as well. He scrubbed his knuckles on her head and scratched her under her chin, rubbing her all over very firmly and became positively elated when she began licking his face.

Sprite was surprised to see he didn't care for the state of his makeup at all. He merely continued to laugh and squeal happily, only screwing his eyes shut and keeping his lips firmly pressed together to take any sort of precaution to his appearance.

'Oh, aren't you just the cutest thing, you are so beautiful, hey listen,' he held the dogs face in his hands as she panther severely and looked very loved up indeed. Frank continued to pet her enthusiastically as he whispered, 'Don't tell the others, but you're my favourite. Okay?'

The dog licked his nose and he almost died.

It was hilarious and incredibly pleasant to watch, but Sprite couldn't help noticing that Frank talked to the animals in exactly the same way he often talked to her.

As if hearing her thoughts, he looked over and caught sight of her in the doorway. He lit up even more than he already was (if possible) clambered to his feet and bolted over to her excitedly.

She was almost knocked over again by the force with which he hugged her. His wonderfully tight grip was the only thing that kept her on he feet as he smothered her with affectionate kisses.

He had white dog fur plastered all over his corset.

'Oh, my darling little mouse, I knew you wouldn't let me down...' Frank murmured into her hair before hoisting her to his waist and carrying her into the room.

Apparently she had since lost the ability to walk by herself. Not that she was particularly complaining.

He settled them both into a nearby chair and held her comfortably. Between yet more, slightly ticklish kisses to her shoulders and neck, Frank briefly filled her in on what she'd missed and introduced a few of the most important people.

'And this here _strapping young man_ ,' Frank spoke the phrase obnoxiously loudly, causing the admittedly striking, man's head to turn with a look of amused annoyance and stuck his tongue out at him playfully, 'is named Hugo, and he's a right _dick_.'

Frank's friend began making his way over. Even though he was clearly deeply trusted (and they must be close for Frank to be speaking to him like that) Sprite still felt her stomach turn funny as her heart rate increased, and she couldn't help but shrink further into Frank and hide herself against his chest. He held her tighter and she could hear the understanding smile in his voice as he reassured her with a quiet, 'It's okay, flower.'

Hugo greeted them with a warm smile and knelt down beside the chair.

'I'll just go and sit over-.'

'No, it's alright lamb, you can stay here.' Frank's grip prevented her from struggling away and moving from the unfamiliar situation.

It was just so annoying. She was well aware her behaviour reflected that of a child who looks to their parents for an answer to painfully simple questions, but her deep-rooted conditioning to fear pretty much everyone meant that she just couldn't help it.

She had explained this to Frank, once, in the days leading up to this dreaded weekend. Looking out her window a short time later, she saw Frank sitting on a garden bench, head in his hands and crying.

'So,' Hugo started with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, 'this is the one everyone's been talking about. The phantom mouse.' With another wide grin, he politely extended his hand out towards her. Half a beat passed before it clicked in her brain and she shook it. 'What do they call you?'

She stuttered. She flicked through the arsenal of names she'd complied over the previous months and tried to pick one.

She explained her predicament and he grinned again.

'Now tell me, Celie, he continued, affectionately diminishing her full name without a hint of a prompt, 'is Frankie here being nice to you?'

She felt herself blushing. Oh no.

She nodded wordlessly.

'Taking good care of you? Keeping you safe? Making you happy?'

She nodded again.

He smiled again (he was the smiliest person ever) and dropped his voice into a knowing murmur as he said, 'I bet he spoils you rotten.' He winked at her mischievously and Sprite found herself getting rather flustered. She was nervous ninety nine percent of the time, so it really made her day when she met someone who was really very nice.

The Saint Bernard chose that opportune moment to amble over sleepily and slobber all over Frank's shoes.

'Oh, Cujo!' Frank complained, with a look of utter disgust on his face. He had once sulked for four hours because no one told him the corner of his right eyelash was peeling away (because it literally did not matter) so Sprite could only imagine how he was feeling now. 'Dirty boy,' he tutted, 'get out of here,' lightly pushing against the dogs behind.

Someone cooed, 'Oh, is he being a big meanie to you, baby?' And the dog trotted towards the attention happily enough.

Frank gently pushed Sprite to her feet and kicked off the shoes disgustedly, occasionally making exaggerated gagging noises at the thick, glistening film covering his black patent pumps.

Sprite and Hugo had been giggling amongst themselves the whole time - beginning when they glanced at at each other and saw they both wore the exact same facial expression.

'Excuse me, I don't know what you're laughing at.' Hugo went a bit mad when Frank playfully tried to get sone in his hair. Frank tuned to Sprite (a much softer, less boisterous demeanour was reserved for her) and said, 'Lessie, my love, why don't you show Hugo around the gardens? He hasn't stopped going on about that since he arrived and quite honestly I just want him to shut up about it now.'

He dodged a well aimed kick from his apparent best friend and ran upstairs cackling.

* * *

Sprite dashed upstairs to quickly grab a light jacket from her room, and on the way, she heard the noises again.

Scrabbling and shifting, as if they had a rather severe rat infestation. But that didn't explain the groans.

Groans and creaks like squally floorboards - but she didn't understand how anything could be making a noise from within the stairs.

She ignored it and distracted herself by strolling along the garden with Hugo and the dogs in tow (the Rottweiler and the Pug, named Kaiser and Earnie, respectively), pointing out the flowers she recognised and answering generic questions about her life there so far.

Hugo really was exceptionally charming: as was everyone from this eccentric planet, she was slowly finding out. For the first time, she remembered Dimitri - or, more importantly, how she hadn't seen him all day. She asked Hugo about it and he told her he'd left last night.

'What? He told me he was staying!' She felt very disappointed indeed. Why would he lie to her? Sarcastically, she murmured, 'Maybe I scared him off...'

'Firstly, my sweet, you couldn't scare rice pudding.' Frank had silently appeared right behind them and made her jump a foot in the air. He cackled at her reaction (she'd never seen him laugh so often before) and continued, 'Secondly, you don't need him! Especially not now you have...' he nodded towards his friend who was now walking a little ahead of them, with Earnie in his arms. Frank gently took her by the shoulders and dropped his voice to a soft murmur as he asked, 'How would you feel about Hugo staying with us?'

She blinked. 'For how long?'

'As long as he wants.'

She pondered. She could see it working. Sprite liked the young man a great deal, and it would be amazing for Frank to finally have a male companion. She envisioned his temper reducing dramatically. Their lingering, nagging fear went with it. That would be nice. Very nice indeed.

'Well, I don't mind,' Sprite responded brightly. 'Besides, she added, 'it's not really anything to do with me, is it?'

He frowned. 'Of course it is, darling! You live here as well.'

Ooh. Ouch. Couldn't he have just said 'stay' or 'dwell'? Live sounded irreversibly permanent.

They trotted to catch up with the man (and dogs) in question and continued their circuit around the perimeter of the garden. Sprite had never felt so stupidly tiny, sandwiched between these two giants. With Sprite walking along shoeless next to Frank wearing the highest, sexiest pair of heels he owned, he was now over a foot taller than her. Hugo was even taller than that. She was teetering on the edge of being teased to within an inch of her life for the next... oh, I don't know.

Forever?

It was beginning to get dark as they went to go inside again. Everyone was about to leave, apparently, and Frank wouldn't let her get away with not saying goodbye.

Hugo was ushering Kaiser across the threshold when she saw something.

'Why is there a swing?'

A lonely wooden plank, beginning to rot and slanting severely, had been suspended from the lowest branch of a magnificent juniper tree by a pair of haphazardly knotted, tattered ropes. Judging by its questionable appearance, the structure has been erected a long while ago, and it didn't look strong enough to support a mouse (haha) let alone a small human being.

Her stomach was cramping again.

She watched Hugo first. His expression revealed he hadn't a clue either, and was just as inexplicably unnerved as her. If there was any time for a haunting tune straight out of a cursed music box and the physical materialisation of lost, infantile, tortured souls, it was now.

Both looked to Frank, and both immediately wished they hadn't.

The look on his face, as he seemingly stared at absolutely nothing, was the most harrowing either of the accidental spectators had ever seen. It made Sprite want to cry, it made Hugo want to walk away and pretend nothing had even happened (which he did after about five seconds), but mostly it made them more wonder what agonising, monstrous atrocities were indiscriminately fucking up his exhausted mind now.

Cautiously, Sprite extended a trembling hand and touched his arm.

He jumped, flinched with a terribly violent arm swing as if he'd been shot or electrocuted. Tears glistened on his deathly pale face.

The only sound was Sprite's heart beating wildly enough to jump straight out of her chest.

 _What's going on? What is this madness? What's happening here?_

 _And why do I feel exactly the same?_

* * *

Hugo briskly marched himself to the flurry of people stepping over the threshold, as was the annual tradition, falsely explained away poor Frank's absence, and retired himself to the warm, cozy comfort of the library.

The room in which he stayed, trying to dissociate from the knowledge of what so many long years can do to such a wonderful soul, to such a dear friend, until the stars came out to play.

* * *

 **It's so painful! I'm pained to realize my solitude on the Earth. It's dark...  
Why? Why does it happen to me?  
**

No One Remains - Painful Memories

* * *

 **Who else is digging Ariana Grande's new hair colour I know I am.**

 **Hashtag who wore it best.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**To my darlings,**

 **LandyShadow: Big love, and don't feel bad about being late. I'd just sleep with one eye open tonight if I were you x**

 **Luna: I HOPE you get a pug named Earnie!**

 **YondaimeKamikage: How can you have not seen rocky horror before?! You haven't lived lmao. Thanks so much for your intere** **st a** **nd support, all the way back to positive vibes and pumpkin spice!**

 **Noah: APPARENTLY A SMUTTY EXPLICIT SCENE IS CALLED A LEMON I'M WHEEZING.**

 **And the plot thickens...**

* * *

A week passed. Hugo settled in very well and formed close friendships with all of them almost immediately. Even Riff Raff seemed about one per cent more approachable when Hugo was around him. Frank hadn't struck, threatened, or even sworn at anyone since that day. Not having to live in constant fear (at least for now) brought the three girls much closer: they had so much more time to just be themselves and do whatever they wanted - whatever they wanted - together without needless and overly-cruel repercussions. Sprite had found it rather easy to explain away the weird swing moment as nothing more than a conveniently timed episode, brief though it was, brought on by the long-awaited accumulation of all that stress and the immense relief of having succeeded for another year. Nothing at all to do with the swing. The dogs were still out. The strange people were gone. They all found themselves smiling for no reason. There was no excitement left to be had.

Life was good.

Riff and Frank were tirelessly working away in the lab, Columbia was out 'gathering supplies' as Frank so quaintly put it, Magenta was laid out on the sofa, bathed in sunlight and stroking Persephone to sleep along with her, and Sprite could see Hugo having a whale of a time in the pool through the glass wall. He was the first person she'd seen actually use it.

He was _such_ a water baby. That was just one of the multitude of things she'd learnt about Hugo, and indeed, the strange planet he was from. She'd occasionally tried to get some funny stories or some cultural contrasts out of Frank, but he was forever reluctant to tell her anything. Hugo could not have been more different. He told her everything - fashion, music, behavioural patterns, stereotypes, lifestyles, beauty, street aesthetics, festivals, housing decorations, books, food, curriculums, career opportunities.

Everything.

A few personal stories she particularly loved hearing was the one about the black-sanded, moon-drenched shores of the Transylvanian beaches with their purple seas and non-existent breeze, and how Hugo spent hours honing his aquatic skills there.

He spotted her watching him through the glass wall. He made a heart shape with his hands and she rolled her eyes, grinning.

Another detailed how body harnesses became exceedingly popular one autumn, and Hugo got into a bit of a pickle when trying his one on for the first time.

Sprite herself was sitting cross-legged against one of the sofas, concentrating very hard on making an origami dragon. During the time in which they would talk hours away ('You two!' Frank would call, 'Shut up!') as well as entertaining her, he also taught her a lot of things. The Japanese art of paper-folding was just one of them.

Magenta shot a seething glare to the area from which Sprite could hear creaking floorboards and the light pitter-patter of water droplets on pristine wood. The floors had just been cleaned this morning, actually. Hugo was obviously now inside, and walking up the stairs, but he always always _always_ forgot to towel off his hair.

With a grunt of proud satisfaction, Sprite finally deemed her pink dragon acceptable and held it up to view it properly. She made these all the time now - Hugo taught her the basics and called her a natural, to which she had turned as red as Columbia's hair - and now had an ambition to cover her ceiling with them. She was trying to figure out a name for the newest one when Hugo walked in.

He was dressed now, in nothing but a pair of black shorts that cut off just over the knee. It had become so unusual to see a boy actually wearing boy's clothing that she almost laughed at him the exact way she would've done at a man wearing Frank's outfit choices just a few short months ago.

Times were weird.

Hugo said nothing as he adopted her position on the floor and plucked his own paper square, green, from the small pile before her. Without so much as an acknowledging glance, they both began to fold.

'What are you making?'

'Bird. You?'

'Another dragon.'

This continued for what seemed like a very long time until Magenta startled them both with an aggressively loud yawn.

'Well I,' she declared, coaxing Persephone from the sofa and thumping her back as she wandered off,' am going for a nap. When Columbia comes back, tell her to be quiet, and if Frank needs me for anything, tell him to fuck off.'

Sprite couldn't help giggling. They had been bickering about something lately - for as peaceful as everything had been, nothing could ever be truly tranquil in this house - however she hadn't the slightest idea what the problem was.

Magenta's thick, platform boots clumped away into silence. The sound of her bedroom door closing echoed slightly, and as soon as this happened, Hugo began to speak again.

'So,' he began. The atmosphere thickened almost instantaneously. Sprite worried she wasn't going to like this. 'I'm probably not allowed to have this, and I'm probably even more forbidden from telling you about it, but is this yours?'

Her faced flushed. 'Yes... yes, that's my phone,' she replied, staring at the device he'd pulled from his pocket. 'Why do you have that?'

'It was in Frank's room.'

'And?' She snapped, finding herself excusing Frank's behaviour. 'What were you doing in there, and why on earth did you take it?'

'I thought you had left it in there by accident.'

She sighed. His helpful innocence was obvious. He meant well, she just wished he wasn't so _nosey_. Despite this, she couldn't resent _all_ of that. He had a knack of decoding the situation with the tiniest sliver of information, and drew her true feelings out of her in no time. Consequently, the confession she was about to make was not planned, the words just fell out.

'I'm not allowed to have it. I ruined my chance to be trusted with it after I snuck into the-.'

 _Holy shit I almost said it._

'-bedroom.' She finished, but now she was thinking about it and they both knew her demeanour had changed. Hugo had an unreadable expression in his eyes as he frowned at her, and all Sprite could do was pray that he felt disinclined to question her on it. ''There are whole floors that I'm not allowed to be on. I didn't listen, saw some things I shouldn't have seen and got into a shit load of trouble.'

'Like what?'

'They were having sex. I walked right in on him and the girls together one night. Frank got it into his head that I was filming him-.'

'-Were you?'

'No! No, of course not! Anyway, ever since then, this has been kept under lock and key.'

She fumbled with the phone for a few more minutes (surprised that she could even turn it on) and confirmed her suspicions.

'I couldn't use it even if I wanted to. See, look?' She turned it sideways and shook it. 'He's taken the SIM card out - probably destroyed it - and it's been altered back to factory settings. I can't contact anyone, all my social media's gone, not even the camera works. It's useless, basically.'

'Why is Frank keeping it then?'

'No idea. I'm trying not to think about it.'

Her forehead creased and her stomach twisted and ached again. Hugo reached out and patted her hand, squeezing it gently in an effort to comfort her.

Hugo vaguely understood that Celie was not exactly in the best of positions. He had been lucky to never clash with Frank, but he saw what happened to those who did and it was not pretty. He'd only been there a week, but he'd already seen how frequently they'd bicker, disagree all the time, and he pretended not to notice when Frank would occasionally push her or tug on her hair. However, nothing bad seemed to come of it. They would just carry on as normal. Back home, had anyone dared to send Frank filthy looks or mutter curse words at him under their breath, they probably wouldn't be able to walk properly for a few weeks, whereas she got flirtatious winks and gentle kisses in return. This unusual change in behaviour made Hugo's initial suspicions stronger: Frank was either letting her off because he was dangerously attached to her, or he was sitting on his hands, waiting for the right moment to call every bit of it into consequence with an unspeakably sinister punishment.

Both options were damning.

Which is why, aside from genuinely liking the girl with her pretty manners and quirky persona, he went out of his way to effectively neutralise the negativity she might feel after being so wound up with Frank.

'You should put it back before Frank catches you,' she instructed as they both stood up. 'You shouldn't have even been in his room anyway - I won't tell him that's where you found it.'

Hugo surprised her by rolling his eyes. 'There's no need to worry about _that_ , Celie!' He then stepped forward and ruffled her hair - to which she shot backwards with an expression suggesting there was a rancid smell in the place.

 _How dare you touch me like that? I'm not just some random person, Frank thinks very highly of me, I'll have you know._

Hugo either didn't care about or didn't notice her distasted reaction, for he continued on unwavered. 'Frank's rules he takes so much pleasure in ruthlessly enforcing, they don't apply to me! Frank and I are very close friends. His house is my house. I can go anywhere!'

He regarded her with one of his trademark grins - charming, flashy, oozing charisma - and she always smiled back, but this time she just wanted to punch every one of those gleaming white teeth right out.

 _Um, I don't think you can_ , was her first disgusted thought, and her utter disbelief (and anger, quite frankly) must've been visible on her face, for he immediately took himself off somewhere else afterwards.

 _Who the fuck does he think he is? I can go anywhere, I can do anything, where's his fucking respect? Not to mention him going through Frank's things, letting himself into his private room without permission, taking items that don't belong to him. That's a child's behaviour! I don't know where he got this bullshit sense of entitlement from but I won't stay quiet for long if he continues to be such a dick..._

Just when things were going so well. She might have been overreacting - perhaps it was her misinterpreting the gesture of endearment - but then she remembered Magenta's attitude towards Frank, how they'd been bickering and she refused to have any contact with him. Sprite bet that Hugo was the topic of disagreement.

She was feeling annoyed and irritable, her stomach was hurting again, she really really (really) needed a drink but she couldn't have one, she was dwelling upon the laboratory again, her head hurt from the extensions which she wasn't allowed to take out, she was on her own with no one to vent to, and now this origami fucking dragon just looked stupid and amateurish.

In short, she wanted Frank.

But Frank was working. Above her head, the ceiling went _whirr boom-boom-boom crash_ and she had learnt that more noise meant less tolerance for those who disturbed. However she was quite sure that if she just knocked, Frank would be patient with her. He would look down at her, chuckling, like he always did when she whined about something trivial. That would only work if he stepped out rather than invited her in, for she knew she'd suffer some kind of attack if she saw the inside of that laboratory again.

However, she deferred this expedition. To kill time, she went on the hunt for alcohol. She searched everywhere she could think of in the short burst of activity her constant fatigue allowed.

The cabinets wouldn't open, underneath the beds were empty, the bins provided nothing, not even the garden had any half-empty bottles tangled up in the rose bushes.

She wasn't expecting to find anything, but that constant hope that this time, over all the other fruitless attempts, that she might find something - to take the edge of the debilitating cramps or curb the extreme nightmares - was the only thing keeping her going.

Her search had taken her to That Staircase. That Staircase which kept making strange noises - as if the staircase had a stomach and that stomach was painful - and as she walked by the cupboard under the stairs, a muffled bang sounded again.

Now that she was here with no one else around, she was ruthlessly determined to find out what in the hell was making that infuriating noise.

She threw open the cupboard door and the irritated scowl dropped into one of startled fear as a wall of miscellaneous items came tilting towards her. Worn carpets, candelabras, broken crockery, taxidermic ravens, even a literal skeleton all came tumbling out at once. She threw her hands out in front of her and screamed rather childishly as she realised she was not strong enough to push all of this weight back and she'd be found as a human pancake not long after.

Hands seized her hips and threw her out of the way. She reeled into the opposite wall as the shakes were beginning to set in, the slam of the door was far too loud for her excruciating headache, and the shouting voice soon after was the exact opposite of what she wanted from Frank.

'How do you _always_ manage to cause trouble? What are you even doing up here, you _know_ I don't like you wandering around on your own!' Frank's anger began to fade as he saw the symptoms of her withdrawal evident in herself. He looked at her in sympathy as he stepped forward to close the distance between them. 'Don't be sad, darling, I didn't mean to shout. Are you suffering?'

She hung her head and nodded once.

'I could make you some tea? The witch's brew, you like that, don't you?'

Witch's brew was the silly name they'd given a recipe that Magenta kept near and dear to her heart, and one that Sprite has taken to drinking all the time. It was just about the only substantial thing Frank could get her to have at the moment. No one had any idea what was in it, but it was delicious.

She politely asked for it in a whisper and let Frank guide her to his room - the place she was either taken to by others or ran to herself when the slightest mishap occurred. The one and only place she felt safe in no matter the circumstances - and sat on the end of his bed, patiently waiting until he came back with two steaming mugs. They drank the soothing concoction together in silence, and as soon as Sprite put her cup down she was wrapped up in Frank's arms under the thick covers, drifting off to sleep as it was the only way to relieve the pain.

The cramps were the worst. They just hurt so much.

* * *

Frank had rocketed from the laboratory in a fit of mad giggles when it all happened. He had discovered something, something stupidly overlooked the first time, which almost guaranteed this second attempt to come out not just as good as the first time, but _better_.

He had to get it out now. He had to tell someone but there was no one to tell, so he ran for his notebook (one of many, haphazardly stacked and sometimes stupidly bound notebooks which he kept in an unassuming box on the highest shelf of his wardrobe at all times. Until now, he'd been the only one who could reach up there, but Hugo wouldn't dare) which, just to prove the earlier point, was an awful pink colour decorated with scratchy glitter and holographic stickers. Being passive aggressive was a talent equally possessed by both Columbia and Riff Raff (disgusting, rusty pick-up truck ring any bells?) and a large quantity of these gaudy things turned up on his bed after Frank refused to let Columbia have new dancing shoes. The pair she already had were just _fine_ , she was only trying to shove her newfound affluence down everyone's throat.

He flipped to the first blank page and began to write everything down. One advantage of having such appalling penmanship was that if anyone were to happen upon these confidential files, no one would be able to read them. Brain whirring at a thousand miles an hour, he scribbled down notes and made holes in the paper while frantically drawing diagrams, until it all looked like a spider had fallen into some ink and crawled across the page. But to him, he understood everything, and that was all that mattered.

He looked up, conscious of the rest of the world once more and feeling rather out of breath, and immediately caught sight of his little mouse wandering around aimlessly, it seemed at first, but Frank soon realised she was once again desperate for a drink. For Christ's sake, would this never _end_?

She was a slave to that alcohol. It controlled her, which was certainly not acceptable. He was the only one allowed to control her. She was _his_ little mouse, she was under _his_ protection, and _he_ was the only reason she was still breathing.

Ah, that reminded him.

The plain black notebook held all the delicious explicits to this little side project. Inside, one would find a list of every disease one could think of, categorised and labelled and colour-coded with those quaint little highlighter pens that smelt like fruits. Some had been cleared, others were pending, and some, in all their strawberry scented redness, were so brutal they had to be saved until right at the end. The tuberculosis had worked like a dream, so that one had been ticked and evaluated and something even better had come out of it.

Something had been made one hundred times easier.

He had been brooding away one day, thinking about all the extra work he'd have to put in to develop the Transylvanian versions for every human cure, and then a conversation started.

Columbia had recently gotten a new tattoo (a vile thing, she called it a mandala but it looked like it had been drawn by a three-year-old) and was twisting her arms at different angles to show everyone.

 _'It feels like, y'know after you get injections at school and your arm aches afterwards?'_

 _'I wouldn't know,' Lessie piped up from her comfortable position on the window seat. Without looking up from her book, she continued, 'I never had them done.'_

 _'You never got vaccinations?'_

 _'Nope. Not even as a baby, as far as I know. I let people think it was because my mother was a crazy vegan, but really she was just lazy.'_

Frank succeeded in leaving nonchalantly at the time, but was so happy he literally could've moonwalked out of the room. Fifty per cent of the strain came from finding ingredients to work _around_ these vaccines, and, if what Lessie had said was true and she had not received a single one, that meant there was no need to re-create the formula to suit those who hadn't been vaccinated against them either - because in Transylvania, afflictions such as measles, mumps and rubella simply didn't exist.

Frank smirked to himself as he read further down the page.

The next one on his list was appendicitis, and he had made a minor mistake when inducing this one. He couldn't choose painful symptoms after painful symptoms after painful symptoms, for even she'd start to get suspicious. Which was why, as soon as he heard her complaining of stomach pain literally five seconds ago on the monitor, he decided he would put morphine into her drinks, and would continue to do so until the appendix burst, providing potential for a whole host of deliciously gruesome infections.

All that time and she wouldn't feel a thing.

The plan worked perfectly, and she was now completely zonked on the left side of his bed. He really should have gone back to work (she would float like this for hours now) but the temptation was just too great. Having the luxury to just relax there, stroking her hair and crooning her favourite lullaby, knowing that he could do anything he wanted and she wouldn't be aware of a thing. Not that he ever would, of course - he never 'engaged' with anyone under the influence, because that meant they weren't giving their full attention to Frank. And that was unacceptable.

No, he stayed because it was the _idea_ that enticed him. The knowledge that he could if he wanted to was enough to make him the most powerful person in the world right now. He had the ability to make her feel so good she was floating on cloud nine and so bad she'd rather die than spend another hour in his company. Her entire being depended on what mood he was in that day, and it had remained so for a long while now - and that was just when she was awake. The fact that she was sleeping peacefully beside him with not a care in the world proved that she was still desperate enough to need him, and that was sublime.

She hated him. Not all the time, but occasionally she wished him dead. Frank knew this but he didn't care, because all he had to do was kiss her and that contempt would begin to dilute instantly. Take it all the way and she'd be light-headed and lovesick for days afterwards. Humans were never designed to fight what felt good to them. To make someone who loathed you melt in your arms... the rush of power was intoxicating.

He continued to sketch diagrams and take notes, absentmindedly petting her while he worked, until he felt something sitting in her back pocket.

He frowned. What the-?

She stirred. Whimpered. She could open her eyes, just barely, but she couldn't see out of them - Frank tapped her on the nose and whispered for her to go back to sleep all the same. He had to help her shift into a more comfortable position, and now the bottom of her phone was clearly seen poking out from the back of her shorts.

Disappointed but not surprised.

He tutted and pulled the device out. He'd have to find a different place to keep it now. How many times was the same thing going to happen? Obviously he enjoyed it - it would be frightfully boring if she behaved herself all the time - he just wished she wasn't so good at it. Even if she had known it was on the top shelf of his wardrobe, how on earth had she reached it?

Someone knocked at his door and he called for them to come in. Hugo poked his head round the doorframe, smiling, and said he could hear Magenta and Columbia having a screaming match and asked whether or not he should intervene.

Frank sighed, running a hand through his hair. 'No, leave it,' he said. 'They fight all the time. The fighting is _constant_. It's never about anything that actually matters, it's not worth your time.'

Hugo chuckled fondly. 'Is she ever not with you?'

His expression had softened significantly while he gazed upon his sleepy little mouse, and Frank didn't like that. He didn't like that at all.

'Poor dear, she's struggling. Weaning her from the alcohol had its challenges but we're taking it one day at a time.'

Replacing the drink with the morphine really was the best way to go. He concluded he wouldn't have any qualms with her relying on substances as long as he was responsible for providing them. He'd still have his control, just not so directly. And, because of his infuriating soft spot that he could not see past, he thought she at least deserved to lean on _something_...

Frank stretched over and took her phone from the bedside table. He tossed it to Hugo, instructing for him to put it in an empty cardboard box from under his bed and put the box into a out-of-the-way cupboard.

'I don't know how she got it,' Frank said. 'You wouldn't have an idea, would you?'

'No,' Hugo responded. 'No, I've never seen it before.'

* * *

Ten hours later, Sprite began to stir. She sat up and stretched until her back cracked. So gross yet so satisfying.

The room was dark, her mind still thick and hazy with deep sleep. She saw stars as she blindly groped for the beside lamp and nearly had a heart attack when she turned and saw Frank beside her, just waking up himself.

'Hey, sleepyhead,' he murmured, a catlike yawn escaping him. 'How are you feeling?'

'Thirsty,' she answered. Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow and her voice came out in a raspy whisper. She rubbed her eyes, head still swimming in disoriented bleariness. For some reason she really couldn't wake up properly - in fact, she'd almost fallen back to sleep again by the time Frank had brought her a glass of water. Frank wasn't worried, so neither was she. She felt much better after drinking the cool water, and they meandered downstairs together, as they almost always did.

Stopping just outside the eyeline of everyone in the living room, she frowned and mumbled, 'I hate it when they fight.'

Frank internally growled. Those stupid girls were still going, even when they both knew how much anger and the potential for violence frightened poor Lessie - it reminded her too much of home. Had they not an ounce of respect?

'But it wasn't me! I swear on my life it _wasn't_!' Magenta sounded like she was about to cry.

'Well who else could it have been then? I'm not fucking stupid, Tink was asleep, Frankie was working and Riff was in the garden! It was obviously you!'

 _Riff Raff? Gardening? Okay that was quite funny._

'You are aware that Hugo's in this house as well?'

'Oh, of course!' Columbia was practically snarling in rage. 'The one time Frankie's actually happy and you have to try everything to ruin it! Can you not stand seeing him peaceful? He doesn't deserve happiness, is that what you think?'

Magenta stormed out of the room in a seething rage. Both Sprite and Frank ducked behind either side of the door frame, but she left via the back door, looking for some sympathy from her brother.

Columbia burst into tears as soon as the door slammed. Frank moved to comfort her, but Sprite touched his arm.

'Hugo doesn't know about the...thing.' Neither had to say it to know what it was. 'Please don't tell him.'

'Tell him what?' He replied with a wink, and relief flooded through her. He kissed the top of her head once then gently moved her aside. Sprite understood Columbia's plight was more important, so she took herself off into the garden to perhaps scope out Magenta's side of the story.

Columbia didn't even realise Frank was in the room due to the violence with which she sobbed. Something must have really upset her for her to be crying like this. He knelt down beside her chair and asked, 'What happened, baby?', in a voice burning with sympathy. It wasn't until he put a comforting hand on her shaking back that she even reacted.

She turned herself away from him, embarrassed. Her attempts to hide her disheveled hair and running makeup were futile as she began to collect herself. 'Oh, nothing, Frankie.' She sniffled. 'It's silly. I'm fine.'

'Darling, look at you, you're not fine.' Frank moved closer and rested his chin on his folded hands atop the arm of the chair. 'You've never fought like this before. What is it?'

'It's a stupid thing to get upset about.'

'Columbia...'

Much like the case with Sprite, hearing Frank say her real name came few and far between, and the instances of which meant business.

She huffed and crossed her arms. There was no avoiding it now.

'She - well I-.' She sighed again and put her head in her hands. She put all her effort into not crying again. 'My record player and my entire collection, it's completely destroyed. It's like they've been doused in water, the cover art is utterly ruined, the discs are scratched and some have been snapped right in half. Right back to the first one I bought at seven to the first one I got signed at thirteen, they're all gone.'

Even Frank felt his heart sink at her words. Ever since they first met, all she talked about were her vinyl records. She spent years collecting them, and those things were not cheap either. Limited edition, original sleeves, she even entered competitions to get her name included in the credits a few times, she had them all.

They illustrated her life, each one had a meaning to her and they were the only connection she had to her old life. And, although Frank would never admit it, hearing her sing and dance along to them when she was in a good mood made his heart swell.

For someone to damage one was inexcusable enough but to destroy the whole lot...?

'Surely you don't think Magenta did this?'

'Who else? She's been really mad at me all the time lately - I've tried to ask her what's going on but she won't admit anything - I went out for food and clothes and stuff, came back and they were gone.

Frank squeezed her hand. 'And where was Magenta when this happened?'

'She was coming out of our room as I was going in. I thought nothing of it, opened my closet and there they were, all mushy and scratched.'

Frank thought back to earlier this morning. That must've been the screaming match Hugo had been worried about.

'I'll get you new ones,' Frank promised. 'However many you had, whatever the cost, I'll replace them all.'

'Oh, Frankie, thank you, but it's not that.' It's just...' she teared up again. 'I can't believe she would ever do something like that. Whatever did I do to make her want to hurt me so badly?'

Frank didn't reply as he hugged her, because there really wasn't anything to say. He instructed her to lock herself in his luxurious bathroom and take as long as she wanted, then make herself comfortable in his bed. She appreciated the kind gesture and managed a small smile as she slipped away. The only thing to do now was find out what Magenta had to say.

'She swears blind it wasn't her,' Lessie came walking in, as if she'd read his mind. 'She says she was in the living room most of the morning, which I know to be true, went for a nap around noon, which I know to be true, but I didn't see her again until now and she's adamant she had just come out of the shower when Columbia arrived and wouldn't have even known about it if Columbia hadn't flown off the handle.'

'Well...' Frank sighed reluctantly as he stood up. They both grimaced as they accepted the inevitable. 'I suppose we'll just have to ask Hugo.'

They went together - Hugo had mountains of respect for Frank and was far too fond of Sprite to lie to either of them - and something very unfortunate happened when they opened his door.

Hugo had just finished spraying strong deodorant and the fumes, still visibly white due to their freshness, wafted directly into their path as they stood in the doorway. Sprite inhaled the whole lot, and immediately felt her chest tighten. Oh no. She coughed uncomfortably, patting Frank's arm to get his attention, but he was too busy treading carefully with the situation. It didn't stop there, though. Hugo sprayed _again_ , long and aggressive because he was playing with Frank and he was joining in, hitting and swearing at him because 'I will not smell like a man!'

She experienced shortness of breath next, for a few awful seconds which felt like five whole minutes, and it took for her to sit down hard onto the floor, wheezing painfully, for them to finally turn around and notice her.

Frank calmly left the room and returned with a nostalgic blue inhaler - where the fuck did he get one of those from? - and helped her her take a few deep, heaving breaths.

Once her airways had cleared enough for her to speak, she said, 'Wow, sorry, that was dumb,' stood up and brushed herself off as if nothing had happened.

'I completely forgot you had asthma,' Frank said as that she assumed was his apology.

'Asthma?' Hugo questioned. 'Is that-?' He then seamlessly switched into speaking in a foreign tongue that almost made Sprite sit down again with how weirdly beautiful it sounded. It never crossed her mind that they might speak a different language. Frank turned to him and nodded, to which Hugo looked like he'd just stepped on a puppy. 'I'm so sorry, Celie, I never would've done that had I known! Are you okay?'

She stared at him to figure out is he was kidding. 'Yes, Hugo, I'm fine,' she said when she realised he wasn't. 'I haven't had an attack since I was seven, I really don't know where that came from.'

 _The tuberculosis,_ Frank thought. _A weaker chest_.

Frank spoke aloud this time when he said, 'Well, we can't risk that happening again. If it's coming back, we need to make sure we've got everything. These blue things are handy but you're only supposed to use them a few times a day. Shouldn't you have one that prevents the symptoms from manifesting?'

Her sinking heart was not a descent. It was a plummet.

'Well... yes - yes, I do, but...' Her face was on fire. Her heart jackhammered inside of her chest. She never thought this would happen, but here it was and the impossible became realised once again. 'I think you know what I'm going to say.' From Frank's body language, the wordless answer was clear. He was chewing on his knuckle, something he only did when he was overwhelmingly nervous or stressed out, and the other arm snaked around his waist as he stood there, fidgeting and looking - dare it be true? - guilty.

 _Don't cry, Sprite. Don't cry._

'If I'm to get my medication, I'm going to have to go home.'

* * *

It seemed that Frank was shaking his head at her and he wasn't even aware of it.

'No,' he said after far too long. 'No, there had to be another way.'

'Not now,' Sprite replied calmly. 'Columbia needs you to be with her tonight.'

'No, not _ever_.'

'Tomorrow.'

Hugo had left and neither of the realised it.

'What if-?'

'-The next time I have an attack I won't be so lucky? On a day where I can't get up the stairs or wait long enough for the elevator to get someone to help? On a day when you're working and I can't shout to tell you I'm suffocating?'

Frank winced as if someone had physically slapped him. 'But Lessie, my little mouse, I can't put you in that sort of danger!'

 _Danger indeed. Because if I take her back to where she comes from there's a chance someone will recognise her, and what on earth would I be forced to do then?_

'Frank, there is no danger, no one's ever in! Besides, there are a few things I'd like to get.'

'I understand the medication,' Frank said, 'but you've been here for months now, why have you never asked to retrieve your sentiments before?'

Her cheeks flared again and she looked down at the floor. 'I didn't think you'd let me.' Her voice was barely a murmur. 'I thought it would technically count as me leaving and then... well, you said that something bad would happen if I did that.'

They stared at each other. Frank blinked. Sprite shifted uncomfortably. This would have been the perfect opportunity for a heartfelt apology, but Frank lacked the mental capacity to be wrong.

Instead, he called her some rude names and flounced away.

The colourful language went right over Sprite's head. She'd become pretty good at ignoring them now. If anything, it was a positive sign: normality was returning.

She read the night away, slept in the morning, and when the fateful hour arrived, she was ready.

* * *

The pick-up truck came to a grinding halt. It sounded as though a bunch of angry wasps lived inside that engine. It was a wonder it had gotten the pair this far. It would take a miracle to get them back.

Neither of them got out. They stared at The House looming in front of them, one of many that looked exactly the same as all the others on this millionaires street. One of the poorest boroughs in London was located just over the road, separated by a mere brick wall. So crude, but (Frank admitted where Sprite did not), so necessary.

'See, I told you.' Sprite's cute little voice was the first to break the silence. 'It's dead.'

Sprite left Frank to lock the truck while she entered the codes (she hoped she remembered them!) to let them in. See, if she had her phone she could use the torch and everything would be so much easier. Frank was too petty allow for any of that nonsense.

Frank's heels clicked up behind her as she reached her hand under the mat.

'The spare key is always kept here. Unless she's taken it and we'll have to think of another - oh, look at that, it's not even locked.'

At two in the morning when it was pitch black outside, every little noise seemed frighteningly loud. Of course you had the constant hustle and bustle of London's life in the background no matter what the hour, but everyone gets paranoid when they're a couple of ski masks away from being burglars.

Standing in her familiar foyer with a helplessly insane transvestite by her side didn't quite seem real. It was all the same, but the shadows were too dark, the shapes too jagged. It was all eerily altered, like seeing a school at night or a hospital with no people in it.

They didn't turn on any lights or even speak as Frank obediently followed his brave girl to what he assumed would be her old bedroom.

Sprite's hand flinched away from the doorknob as if it was white hot. All of a sudden she had an all-encompassing dread that she really wouldn't be able to go in, that she'd turn around and leave, bawling, and have to think of away to make it up to Frank after dragging him out and making him drive all this way when he didn't even want to go in the first place.

'Frank, I-.'

'Yes you can.' Fingers stroked the back of her slender white neck, kneading away some of that tension. 'Go on in and get your things together. Nothing will touch you while I'm here.'

Really, what was she expecting? Ghosts?

Her breath caught in her throat as she went inside.

Her room was exactly as she'd left it. Her bedsheets were still in an awkward pile after she'd thrown them aside to search for her headphones that she never took in the end. The curtains were still wide open. A few rejected outfit choices still hung on her wardrobe door. Even her bluetooth speaker was still on, a dead battery now, but the switches proved the point. The worst part was that everything was covered in a film of dust. No one had even been in here since she'd gone.

She whispered, 'It's like I never left.' The heartbreak she felt was strange - the pain was there, but she'd been anticipating it all this time, but it still managed to hurt more than she thought it would. 'Like I wasn't even here to begin with.'

Frank's indignant outrage was rolling off him in palpable waves, but he stayed respectfully silent as he, somewhat mechanically, turned on the light and got to work.

She tossed her blue and brown inhalers into her silver glittering rucksack first ('Matches your hair,' Frank commented with a grin), moved on to pack some of her favourite clothes and shoes, a perfume or two that comforted her, a few CD's Columbia might enjoy, the more expensive half of the makeup she owned, her beloved hair-care products and every other homely necessity she could think of. She ended up zipping her Bluetooth speaker in there as well, as it might work after all.

She turned towards Frank with a relieved smile - it worked! We did it! - to find him writing 'clean me' into the dust on her windowsill with his finger. He also made the point of pulling all her old stuffed animals (she refused to throw them away, even the ones she'd had since babyhood. The majority had been bought by herself, for herself, they totally had feelings and she couldn't bear to part with them) from under her bed and had arranged them on her bed. The Care Bears were hugging each other, the mottled giraffe was reading a book upside-down and Spot the Dog appeared to be doing something absolutely not appropriate for children with Nelly the Elephant.

She gave him a look and he snorted with laughter.

'What?' He giggled. 'They're happy.' He smirked at her and said, 'I know you want to take one.'

'I do not.'

'Two then.'

Can you not-?'

' _All_ of them?'

She swatted him with her bag and he snorted again. 'Columbia has one.' Frank gave her a smug side-eye. 'I think she loves it more than she loves me. It's a _unicorn_ , his horn is made out of _rainbows_ and sometimes she put him in the microwave and his belly smells like _lavender_.'

She was suppressing giggles herself now. 'What's it called?'

'I don't fucking know. Dave.'

She guffawed at this and gave in to Frank's teasingly childish demands, selecting Toothless the Dragon (sitting with his back to the room as if he was sulking about something) to bring back with her.

They were muttering and laughing their way down the stairs when they heard the door open.

It felt like a dream. Sprite wasn't scared at all, she just thought _oh it's one of those weird lucid things, all is well in the real world_. If Frank hadn't seized her from behind and frantically shoved them into the nearest open room, she would never have reacted.

A horrific dark kind of curiosity kept them both from shutting the door completely. The noise would've been too risky anyway, but they just had to see everything for themselves.

It was the sound of expensive heels clacking and excessive keys jingling that finally stirred some sort of reaction within Sprite. The sound was just too familiar, and not in a good way. She waited for the sound of drunken slurring, bottles breaking, hysterical heartbroken sobbing about how she hated her life and would give anything to do it all again and be a better mum.

The heartbeat was painful inside her chest, she felt bathed in sweat and all she could do was curl up on one of the cushioned bar stools in the kitchen, clutching Toothless like a baby and trying very hard not to cry. It would give them away, she'd be stuck back here and she'd never see Frank again. The thought only made her terror worse and she trembled and jerked like she was being galvanised.

Frank took a few painfully slow steps away from the door, like he was backing away from a wild animal, not taking his eyes off of the gap in the frame as if looking away would draw her to join them inside. When he was sure no one was going to come in, he turned and ran for Sprite. He knelt down in front of her, adopting the usual position yet again, and held onto her quaking shoulders firmly. Not without muttering, for it seemed he couldn't resist proving her wrong even in the situation they were in, 'I _knew_ this would happen...'

A voice. Her voice. Followed by another, much deeper, a man. No change there then. They were drunk, obviously, and disgusting slurpy kissing noises rang out in the thick silence. Even with all the stress going on, Frank hope to God they didn't sound like that.

She wasn't even looking, she had her head in her hands and tiny whimpers escaped her despite how hard she tried to suppress them. Frank wasn't sure if she even understood what he was saying, but time was running out and they _had_ to get away.

'Mousy, darling, look at me.' Frank took Toothless from her and put him on the side so he could clasp her hands and make her look him deep in the eyes, making sure she hung off every word he said. 'I know this is scary but you have to _think_ now. Do you know of any other way we can get out?'

Her thoughts refused to assemble themselves. Scraps of impressions floating around in the wind, dirty and screwed up. Her mind was whirring but nothing was clicking in her brain. The thoughts were there she just couldn't quite reach them.

The people outside staggered even closer to the kitchen they were hiding in now. Frank turned to her with a look of blackened urgency that she'd never forget until her dying day.

'Lessie, he warned, ' _now_.'

'Clear doors,' she blurted. 'The at the back there's clear doors they go out on to the patio and-and-and the path stretches around to the front but it's long it might be too long it's too noisy we have to go through the foyer to get to the doors and they're in there it's it's not it won't work please don't-.'

Frank pulled her down from the stool (the edge scraped her back but it was too trivial to feel hurt about) and pushed her towards the half open door. She had to lead them out, she was the only one who knew where they had to go. She was getting hysterical, the only thing to do was say nothing and make her do it otherwise she never would and they'd both be better off dead.

They both peeked out at the shadowy foyer, willing them to move away. The silhouettes stretched and writhed in their sexual administrations and Frank found he couldn't watch. The longer he saw that woman the harder it was not not storm out of there and break her neck. The arms securely cocooning Sprite ( _I do care_ , the embrace said, _but now is really not the time to sit around and be sentimental about it. Get us out of this one, little mouse, and I'll give you the best cuddle you've ever had_ ) tightened along with Frank's inner contempt. If Sprite hadn't squeaked and wriggled herself away, she probably would have suffocated by now.

The pair moved backwards towards the stairs. Frank breathed a dangerously audible sigh of relief. He went to rocket out of there, but then he heard something.

'Oh my god.' The exclamation was so quiet he thought it was his imagination. Did she forget Toothless? No, she was holding him in the same way he was holding her. She was rooted to the spot, fixated upon something that didn't seem to be there. His poor, poor little mouse wasn't just shaking, she was _convulsing_.

A door closed upstairs. This was their chance, why wasn't she moving? What had she seen?

'Come on, darling,' he prompted her gently. 'You've done brilliantly, my brave girl, and I'm so proud of you, but we _have_ to _leave_ now.'

Her next words were even quieter than the first, but they graced Frank's ears like gunshots and went through his stomach like them too.

'She's pregnant.'

* * *

 **There was a time**

 **Then it all went wrong**

I Dreamed a Dream - _Les Miserables_

* * *

 **Honestly, who wouldn't want a cuddly toy of Toothless the Dragon.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**I recently saw a quote from Stephen King which read 'The Road to Hell is Paved With Adverbs.' I went back and read through all of my work and I realised just how often I use them! I have now made a vow to actively (see I just did it again!) to put more effort into really describing things rather than shoving in an adverb. This came into play about two chapters ago (three of you count this one) and I feel like I've noticed a difference, and I wonder if anyone else has too?**

 **The funny part is I never wouldn't realised had I not stumbled upon this quote on Pinterest lmao. You heard it here first, ladies and gents, the master of horror gives quite good advice as well.**

 **LandyShadow - yes, it is sad, and I feel like a horrible person for putting her through all of that. I feel so personally attached to all of them now, as I think a lot of authors do, but I promise there is a REASON behind everything and I hope you stay to find out!**

 **Luna - I cackled at my own screen for ages over the mental image of Frank moonwalking it's really okay.**

 **Hazel Ashwood - HNNNG YOU'RE FINALLY BACK I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I AM SO HAPPY SENDING THE BIGGEST VIRTUAL HUG EVER.**

 **More dogs. Happy times.**

* * *

Neither said another word until they got back inside the castle. They half-dragged each other to the door, clambered into the truck like drunkards and didn't let go of one another's hand until they pulled into the clearing, even though the return journey took sixty-five minutes instead of the usual forty. Identical to the earlier instance where shock had rendered her immobile, if Frank hadn't lifted Sprite out of the truck and over the threshold like newlyweds, he had a grave certainty she never would have moved.

Something about the familiarity and comfort of the once unnerving surroundings must have triggered her emotions within her once again, for she burst into floods of utterly heartbroken sobs as soon as her feet touched the ground.

Had the rest of the housemates not been asleep, Frank would have taken her upstairs before he let her react to hide her dignity and prevent them from asking questions. However the only beings present at that point were the dogs, so he sat on the floor and allowed her to let everything come out in complete and excruciating grief.

It ached Frank deep in his heart to see her in such a hysterical level of distress, especially when he couldn't do a thing about it. He cried with her that day, tangled up on the hard unforgiving floor, clinging onto his pride and joy as if he could somehow _will_ her to be happier, and wishing with every ounce of his grieving heart that her life had turned out differently.

He collected himself after a short time (for he couldn't scare her even further) and grimaced as he acknowledged he'd have to get some coherent responses out of her.

'Mousy...' He cooed softly, as if soothing a feral animal. 'Darling, are you _sure_ this is happening?'

Frank had sincere suspicions that the intense fear and onslaught of painful nostalgia caused her mind to start playing tricks on her. After all, he had seen the lovers together with his own eyes and he certainly hadn't noticed anything abnormal about the womanly shape slinking up the stairs.

She pulled away from him, gasping and shaking terribly. 'I... _saw_ it,' she gasped with considerable effort. 'Her stomach was sticking out!. You wouldn't know the difference but she's almost as thin as me on a normal day, it's _impossible_ for me to have mistaken that! And,' she continued, 'I saw a prescription box of contraceptive pills on the side and they hadn't even been opened.'

Frank was at a loss for words twice in the same night. He was quite sure that had never occurred in his entire life. What the fuck was he supposed to do now this was really happening? He _knew_ he should not have been so sentimental and sent her back home when he had the chance. It was the most sensible thing to do, both at the time and certainly right now, but him and his infuriating heart... if only he wasn't so charitable.

His relentless good-natured attitude had, once again, landed him in a sticky situation. Another first - he wasn't quite sure how he would get out of this one.

She sniffed. 'She's drinking again, just like she did with me. I just - I...' she covered her face and a few sad noises escaped her again. 'I can't let another innocent person - a tiny helpless _baby_ \- be subjected to everything that I went through. If it weren't for today, I'd have a sibling a few months from now and I never would've known.'

'Oh look,' Frank smiled just as he was about to shoot the classic _well, maybe she's changed_ like a clueless idiot. 'Razor's come to see if you're okay.'

The husky ventured closer with concern perfectly readable in his gorgeous blue eyes, and nuzzled against Sprite's side. She chuckled tearfully at the wonderful empathetic abilities of the dog (neither of the emotional pair understood _how_ anyone could think animals didn't have feelings) and raised her arm to encircle his shoulders.

Sprite thought his aggressive name was wildly inappropriate for his gentle nature. If it was up to he he would've been called Orion. He looked like an Orion.

Razor snuffled even closer, almost touching her nose with his own, and lightly licked her face. Drying her tears, it seemed.

Sprite almost broke down again, blessedly a touch happier than before. She murmured, 'I love animals,' while stroking the dog's head. 'You're such a good boy.'

Frank left whilst she was preoccupied to put her things away. He put everything into his own room without even thinking: it was more-or-less theirs now anyway and he hated the thought of her sleeping anywhere else.

Meanwhile, Frank began to calculate.

Lessie had been with them for three months now - _four_ , as it was technically past midnight - and if she really had noticed a bump, the woman was probably somewhere between four and five months into her pregnancy. A thin frame would fill out much quicker than a larger one, making it much more difficult to estimate how far along she was. Ooh, it was all so frustrating!

Either way, the woman must have conceived after his little mouse had settled under his wing. Which meant that, reinforcing poor Lessie's earlier lament, another member of her family would exist soon, and had tonight not occurred she would have been none the wiser.

It was morally corrupt, disgusting, heartbreaking. He didn't even want to think about how much black rage it filled him with. Mostly, however, it was just unfair. And Frank, as one may have noticed by now, cared an awful lot about things being fair.

Both parties lost out, as far as Frank was concerned. Lessie's plight had already been detailed, but if her mother's parenting skills really were as unspeakable as she described them, that little unborn person in there was potentially in very real danger. Of exactly what, he didn't like to think about, but seeing the emotional strain it put on his darling (excluding the plethora of other negative effects) was enough to fiercely attempt to prevent that happening to anyone else.

If only there was a way he could see. To be a fly on the wall in that house. To confirm or deny the pregnant at first - hopefully it all would turn out to have been a trick of the light or the illusions of an intensely terrified mind and nothing more - and to monitor the lifestyle of the estranged women if need be. If anything questionable was going on within those walls, Frank would not hesitate to intervene. The thought of separating a mother from her child was indeed harrowing, but her only daughter had essentially been missing for four months and she didn't seem even the slightest bit phased-.

No...surely that wasn't the reason why...?

Frank had no idea what caused this thought to pop into his head, but suddenly he was seriously considering the possibility of her having another child to...replace the lost one?

He was certain Lessie hadn't thought about it this way. She would have practically died in his arms if that were the case. But it did make sense. To come off these 'pills' (he knew absolutely nothing about them and it didn't make any sense to him. The human body was weird) was a deliberate choice made only by female humans who wanted to maximise their chances of producing offspring. If Lessie has recognised the box even in the almost pitch-darkness, her mother must have been taking them for a while, perhaps even Lessie's whole life. Becoming broody and all of that strange behaviour could happen at any time, but the whole situation was just too darkly coincidental to just ignore.

Considering this (and the awful feelings manifesting in his stomach as he did so) confirmed that he absolutely must find a way to have access to everything that was going on there. He dearly hoped the child would be well cared for, but if not, he damned well wasn't going to sit around and do nothing. For his brave little mouse, if nothing else.

It would take some time, and a very real deadline loomed, but ultimately, Frank would succeed. As he always did.

Hurriedly descending the stairs to comfort his weak little lamb again, he found her sat at the table now, which was a good start. She drank from her favourite pink mug, taking small sips of that flavoursome witch's brew.

'How did you manage to make that?' Frank ruffled her hair (still beautifully long, for as long as he had a say - and he _always_ had a say - those clever little hair extensions were never coming out) and gave a kind smile. 'I thought you couldn't reach up there?'

She turned at an awkward angle a placed a small glass mason jar in front of him. Oh, that's right! In all the excitement he'd forgotten all about that.

After Columbia had drifted off peacefully and he was sure no one else was awake, in the depths of last night he had crept to the kitchen and spooned a substantial amount of the loose leaf tea into this dainty little container, accented with a white ribbon and simply labelled 'Sprite.'

He had attempted to forge her handwriting so as to not arouse suspicion from anyone else. She saw it as a gift and was over the moon with the thoughtful gesture, and couldn't quite get over hearing him voice her original nickname. Frank thought it made her rather flustered.

And here she was, making it up and drinking it of her own accord. Sigh. Keep this up and she'd be doing his job for him. With a little elbow-grease that ancient pestle and mortar could grind up those tablets until they were almost invisible.

* * *

The other's knew something had happened. There was a palpable tension in the air and the girls were being much more affectionate with her than usual. Sprite appreciated them so very very much, but really she just found it patronising. Magenta and Columbia didn't even know why they were doing it, they just went out of their way to comfort their most special friend because the poor idiot girl was feeling sad again.

It worried the girls so much they even went as far as to visit the lab, like nervous versions of Tweedledum and Tweedledee, to ask Frank what they could do to help. Their selfless expression of love and care elicited a reaction no one would have ever expected of Frank, for he held a girl in each arm and embraced them tightly. It was very rare for Frank to be as emotionally affected by anything as he was with this - some might even call it dangerous - but it helped him remember why he'd chosen his dysfunctional little family in the first place.

'Frank, what's _wrong_ with her? Everything seemed to be going so well and all of a sudden she's crashed and... oh, we just love her so much and it's _miserable_!' Magenta's crazy hair was even more untamed, she had dark circles under her eyes and her apron was on backwards. Despite the circumstances, Frank felt a tinge if pride at just how expertly his manipulative little mouse had succeeded in bewitching them all. A depressive episode or two was, albeit, undesired, but hardly uncommon within this household. They must be much more attached than Frank thought if her struggles had brought them all down like this.

Frank managed a grateful smile and chucked Magenta under the chin. 'She'd be over the moon if she knew how much you pair cared about her.' Frank spoke softly although there was no one around to hear. 'But she begged me not to tell anyone and I can't betray her like that. I wish I could, my darlings, but it's not my place. I just can't.'

Columbia, with tears in her mesmerising eyes, grew rather angry as she demanded to know just what exactly they were supposed to do, because it was killing them just sitting around not addressing the problem and _goddammit_ there had to be something!

'Give her space,' he instructed. 'She will want to be alone a lot of the time so please don't feel upset if she pushes you away. She needs us now more than ever. Let her know you're there for her unconditionally - without pestering her or smothering her with copious amounts of affection - and just leave it at that.'

As somewhat of a happy mistake, they all took her decline in health at face value. She'd taken a hard blow, she was feeling extremely weak and vulnerable, it was only natural that she'd become ill. Sprite's mind was all over the place to such an extent even _she_ barely noticed her sickness. During that long, gruelling two months or so, the peritonitis came and went, the abscesses came and went, the sepsis came and went. All were gruesome, all were distressing and all were cured. Intimidating and physically beating Riff Raff into total and absolute silence was the hardest part of the appendectomy, and aside from the fading scar on her abdomen, the procedure went without a hitch.

The hormones came next, as her brain was already going through so many changes that it would be hardly noticed. Making her paranoid, making her lethargic, making her manic and making her stressed, not to mention playing around with oestrogen which gave her the heaviest and most painful menstural cycle she'd ever had in her entire life and fucking over her insulin levels which caused her to drink three times her own body weight (as least it _seemed_ like that much) of gallon after gallon of water.

Frank had just finished the very last entry on dermatological complications (psoriasis was weirdly mesmerising to look at in real life) when he decided things needed to change.

He galloped down the stairs in a fit of excitement and announced, 'Right!'

Everyone in the living room jumped. Magenta regarded him with judgement, Columbia looked expectant, and Hugo was doing what Hugo always did, which was laugh right in the face of his loony friend.

He clapped his hands together conclusively. 'We,' he declared, 'are hosting a party. Magenta, make the house look spotless, Columbia, you run along and find me some guests, Hugo, if you'll come with me I've got a special job for you and-.' He cut himself off looked around the room. 'Where's Lessie?'

Magenta nodded in the direction of the glass wall. 'She's playing ball with the dogs outside.'

A beaming smile remained on his face as he walked out, feeling the room crackle with anticipation and excitement. He especially loved seeing Columbia's reaction to all this frivolity. Her dear face just lit up.

Frank narrowly avoided a tennis ball hurling straight at his nose by launching himself out of the way in a bodily tangle of, 'oh my torso thinks it's safer to go this way but my legs would rather go this way' and ended up front-down, star-fished on the grass. He righted himself almost as soon as he'd fallen, but he still heard Magenta whooping with laughter in a veritable witch's cackle from the other side of the wall.

Lessie covered her mouth to smother her own laughter as she scampered over (along with the five dogs who bounded along at her feet) to apologise and make sure he wasn't hurt. Frank realised, with an abrupt tightening in his throat, that it was the first time he'd seen her show any kind of happiness since that awful night.

'I didn't hurt you, did I?' She went _right_ up on her tiptoes to peer at his face (and even then she'd just barely be able to kiss his chin), then asked, 'Did I break anything?' Obviously referring to windows or ornaments, not bones.

Frank chuckled and held her at arms length, and gently pushed her to stand properly. He bent closer to her ear and murmured, 'You seem a lot happier today.'

She looked at him with a quiet little smile. 'Yeah, well... give me animals over people any day.'

'Who's your favourite?'

'I can't answer that!'

'Come on, Lessie, we _all_ have favourites. I'm particularly fond of Cujo, though I don't tell the others because I don't want them to get upset.'

Frank finished with a wry smile and Sprite rolled her eyes. 'As if they'd understand.'

Frank clutched his chest and gasped as if someone had shot him.

'They _do_ understand!' Frank protested, 'I talk to them all the time and they talk back, they just can't speak English!'

'Okay fine, well if I _had_ to choose I'd say Persephone is mine. She's so gentle and she wants to be with me all the time. Oh that reminds me,' she continued on with a guilty tone, 'I fell asleep in your room with the door open and she laid on the bed with me. There's dog fur all over your sheets now, sorry,' she giggled.

'Ah, it's not me you should be apologising to.' Sprite adored it when he playfully ruffled her hair, and she giggled in delight upon this time. 'Magenta won't be too happy now she has to change the sheets before tonight - though considering it's _you_ you could murder someone and she wouldn't be cross with you.'

For once, Frank decided not to wait for her reaction and to tell her - not worriedly tiptoeing around the subject in case she got upset - exactly what was happening and what was expected of her.

'We are hosting an event for the public tonight which - in fact, this is your first one, correct?' She nodded. This was one strange child if she could handle a house full of aliens better than her own kind. 'They're all setting things up now and - oh, _that's_ what you can do! I just hope she hasn't...'

Frank darted around to the front of the house and through the foyer with Sprite in tow like a confused puppy as he called out for Columbia.

She came running down the stairs in a full face of heavy makeup and clad in a skimpy outfit, keys in hand as she shrugged a shiny leather jacket on. She was clearly annoyed as she responded, 'Alright, alright, I'm going!'

'Take my Lessie with you.'

'What?' They both asked the question in confused unison.

Frank briefly explained the Columbia's role was to go out posing as a rep of some sort, and generate an interest in this part they were having. A brick of a phone sat in the dancer's pocket, and she was to put everyone's mobile number into that with an instruction to meet back at a certain place at a certain time (encouraging people to bring as many cars and plus ones as possible), the whole lot would follow Columbia back here and the fun would begin. Sprite was dreading to hear what any of this had to do with her, but Frank then asked her to supply the decorations.

She snorted. 'What are you, twelve? Are you literally taking balloons, streamers and party hats?' Frank, rather defensively, said he was. 'You never decorated the first time!'

'Because that was a _formal affair_.' Frank spoke to her as if she were a neonate and she could've punched him. 'People love the nostalgia! No one admits it but it's a riot every time. Isn't it, firefly?'

'Incredibly, I do agree with Frankie on this one.'

Sprite pretended she couldn't hear Frank worriedly asking Columbia to look after her and Columbia swearing that she would, and the two teenaged humans left together.

Lessie came sauntering back in an hour or so later with two bags under her arms like babies. She appeared immensely pleased with herself, but she took everyone by surprise when she asked to go out _again_ and assist Columbia with the last of the scouting (she had since learned that's what it was called and nothing had ever made more sense).

Frank wasn't sure whether she was joking or not, so he couldn't help laughing when he exclaimed, 'You can if you want to, flower!'

The decorations were up, music blaring, food on the table and the dogs safe in their kennels. All that was left to do now was to wait for the girls to arrive with their guests for the evening. This part was Frank's favourite. The anticipation, the unknowing of who was going to walk through that door. And the possibilities all those diverse beauties provided him with... it made his groin ache just thinking about it.

Ah, what luck. That looked like them now.

Frank excitedly adopted his usual position by the door, barely containing himself as the door creaked open. He shook and kissed the hands of each person stepping over the threshold, he gave out his most charming smiles and suggestive winks, he introduced the others, but most importantly, he earned their trust.

They felt safe here. That was the idea anyway.

He already has his eye on two men and one woman, and was thinking about how best to initiate proceedings when Columbia walked in. She always came in last (to make sure every person was accounted for and no one tried to chicken out) but - and his heart stopped - his precious little mouse was not with her.

'It's Sprite.' Columbia seemed to be trembling all over. 'She's been arrested.'

* * *

'What.'

He was so floored the word didn't even come out as a question. Just utterly flat.

'Oh, it was such a stupid thing!' Columbia scrunched her face up and stomped her foot like a sulking child. 'This girl, fucking ugly slut she was, came out of nowhere and kept asking her if she was on a hunger strike. Shouting, cussing, getting right up in her face, she was so rude. She ignored it at first, and I did too because I know I was supposed to be looking after her-.' Her breath hitched then and tears came to her eyes. The one thing she had to do and she couldn't even do that. Letting Frankie down again. 'But then she pushed her and Tink just sort of snapped. They got into a proper catfight - Tink left teeth marks in her shoulder, I think - and the police were called. She wasn't handcuffed but it took three officers to get her into the car because she was screaming and crying. The whole situation really scared her.'

'Did they take that bitch away too?' Frank demanded. He was furious - shaking - but the public circumstances forced him to be much calmer than he otherwise would have been.

'Yeah, I think, I don't know. I went with her to the station, luckily I managed to explain what happened and I think they were quite understanding. They wanted to make sure she got home safely and her address was written down so she'll probably be at her old house. I couldn't stay for much longer, I had to get out, because it was only a matter of time before they started asking _me_ all sorts of questions and what was I supposed to have-?!'

'It's alright, my darling, none of this is your fault. You've been very mature and I'm very grateful for you coming to me first.' It seemed everyone was behaving differently today (perhaps it was a full moon?) for Frank clapped her up in a very tight, very loving embrace that lasted for a long time. He reassured her that her little friend would be just fine, left a perfect black kiss print on her forehead and sent her on her way - with a promise not to mention anything to anyone until he got her back safely.

Frank made his way through the swarming crowds and tapped Riff Raff on the back. He turned slowly, complete reluctance in his eyes. He didn't relax when he saw his master, his demeanour just kind of said 'oh, it's you.'

'The old computer upstairs. Does it still work?'

'Possibly.'

'Go and set it up,' Frank snapped. 'See if you can find any information on my little mouse.'

Riff muttered, 'Lab rat is more like it.'

Had a party not been in full swing, Riff certainly would have had a marble bust hurled straight at the back of his head for such audacious insolence. Instead, Frank threw him out of the way with orders to keep his babies distracted while he was gone.

He had a mouse to catch.

* * *

The news began to sink in as Frank drove the same route for the second time in two days. By the time he got to the place where she used to live, he was absolutely livid. He could quite easily throttle her with not a hint of remorse, and that was not even half of what she deserved.

Imagine if it had been something worse! The authorities would have interviewed her about all sorts of personal things: her next of kin, her address, who she lived with and what she'd been doing. She would have disintegrated under the pressure and who knows how much confidential information would have come out. Imagine if he'd been asked come to the station, to make a statement or even be interviewed himself! What the _fuck_ would have transpired then?!

He couldn't quite believe she'd had the nerve (and the _stupidity..._ ) to be so irresponsible. A severe telling-off was not quite all he had in store for her tonight, that was certain.

As if that wasn't enough, he'd been forced to miss out on his party, leave his precious babies in the company of complete strangers _and_ visit the same place less than a day apart! If people began getting suspicious of this rusty old pick up truck driving around the vicinity, it certainly wasn't him who'd be doing all the explaining.

He circled the house a few times, looking for an open window or at least a sign that someone was in there. Very gently, he tried the door. Locked. Damn, the one time it was in _his_ best interest to get inside and the universe fucked him over yet again. He turned to check behind him. The silver Mercedes from last night was not there - the mother wasn't in - at least that was a good sign...

Oh, that's a point! Didn't she say she kept a spare key under the mat? Aha, success! He let himself in as stealthily as he could and, given the opportunity, had a little nosey around the house. Large, open, the decor was exquisite... but the place was a tip. Empty alcohol bottles littered every available surface, food had dried and crusted into the dishes that overflowed the sink, the plants were either dead or dying, the grass grotesquely long and unkempt. Good lord, and that was only the first floor!

Oh shit. He could clearly see himself on the cctv cameras. He'd have to figure out a way to corrupt the files - or at least hope and pray no one was ever sober enough to look.

Perhaps that was the appropriate course of action to take. If he could figure out a way to install his own cameras in here, under the same principle of his own household, he'd have twenty four seven access to everything that went on under this roof. Whether or not the findings warranted any interventions would be his decision to make.

He strolled upstairs, stepping gingerly over the shards of broken glass and unidentifiable substances dampening the floor (he had been too preoccupied to notice it before, but the smell in here was something chronic) when he stepped on something that slipped under his foot and almost sent him flying. He bent down, a curious frown on his face, and picked up what he found to be a small book. He leafed though the creamy pages and found it to be very well lived-in, with a penmanship that looked very familiar.

Frank had stumbled upon her diary. Though what it was doing in the middle of the hallway, he had no idea. He meticulously read through each page with careful precision. His sense of wonder, enthralment, sympathy and despair were equal in their intensities as he took in each entry. The same words and phrases spiralled around often throughout the pages: _hate, give up, toxic, grief, anger, mania, blacked out, never enough, smashed, ache, another overdose, I have to get out._

 _I have to get out._

 _I have to get out._

Frank smirked. He'd given her everything she ever dreamed of and she still defiled him with audacious thanklessness.

' _Don't_ you run away from me!'

A frantic pitter-patter of little feet whizzed behind him just before Frank turned his head, and he sprinted after her like a homicidal maniac. He seized hold of her while she was still scrambling down the stairs, and the rebellious little thing kicked and screamed in his arms as if he would ever let her go.

Stop strugglingFrank demanded. 'Stop it _now!_ '

She had grabbed onto the banister and was trying to heave herself away from him (as if that was going to work, she had the upper arm strength of a two year old). The strength he had to enforce to keep her in place grew more severe by the second; his arms ended up wrapping so tightly around her body that he felt one of her ribs crack. She stopped fighting immediately. She didn't cry out, but Frank heard her laboured breathing and the silent, harrowed tears streaming down her face. She was in a lot of pain, but she had put herself in it.

'Well now, look at that. You've hurt yourself.' Frank spoke softly and with a big sigh. His voice, he noted, sounded more parental-like than ever. It was not the first time which he wondered just how many ridiculous things occurred within their relationship, and it seemed this tedious disciplinarian act was just one of them.

She finally complied when he led her away, although she was severely limping and struggling to breath.

'The cctv,' he said, 'does it work?' She nodded. 'Remove any evidence proving I was here. All it takes is one person to see it and all my hard work gets ruined. Because of you - _again_.' He sneered although her back was facing him. It took her an infuriatingly long time (she couldn't have been that sore!') But as soon as she turned back, Frank grabbed her arm and hauled her out of the house. He dragged her along as one might view as unsympathetic or perhaps even inhumane, but that just wasn't the case. A painful lesson to learn, that was all.

Frank almost snarled as he stormed out to the car and all but threw her into the passenger seat. She was gasping for breath, crying and desperately trying to tell him to slow down but he no longer cared.

'I am _so_ angry with you.' He slammed the car door hard enough to create a spidery crack in the window. 'I didn't believe my dear firefly when she told me. I never thought you would _shame_ me like that. I mean, really, who do you think you are? Fighting in the streets, disrespecting authorities, not to mention dressed like a fucking tramp.'

'You _told_ me I had to wear-!'

'No, don't! Keep your fucking mouth shut for one minute, you don't _get_ to do this, Celeste. You don't _get_ to have a say.

'I just can't believe you'd continue to be so irresponsible! How many time now have I told you not to raise suspicions? If the other girl had sustained more serious injuries, you would have been in for a lot worse than a measly caution, and what's more, _I_ , no doubt, would have been the one expected to go down there and rescue you. You're incredibly lucky they didn't charge you with anything, my girl, because you'd have my demise to answer for as well, and what's worse, you put Columbia in danger!'

'Alright! Okay, I stood up for myself, fucking bring back hanging!'

Frank's right hand flew from the wheel and _slapped_ her, hard, right across the face. Her head bashed against the window with the sheer brute force of it, her teeth clacked, stars obstructed her vision. Her ribs throbbed worse than ever, she needed to take deep breaths but each one was more excruciating than the last. She really thought she would suffocate here, speeding along an unmarked country lane with a pissed off transvestite by her side, dead by asphyxiation because all she wanted to do was have the upper hand for once.

Frank didn't take his eyes off the road. Not once.

'Don't test me, sweetheart,' he murmured. 'Not tonight.'

* * *

She re-entered the house in disgrace. She was send straight upstairs (without a drink or painkillers or anything) to 'sit quietly and think about what you've done,' and she was left to struggle up the stairs miserably, limping to her own room - not Frank's - in deep guilt and excruciating pain.

Frank was still incomprehensibly furious, but to his fortune, it was nothing a good shag or five wouldn't fix. Barely noticing who he was choosing, he had four guests in his bed at once and every last ounce of his rage was taken out on them. In the most pleasurable way possible, of course. He didn't remember most of it (yet another sacrifice in the name of his sullen, impossible little mouse), but he must have done well because each one of them (even the solitary man) stumbled their way back downstairs, giggling and swooning.

This routine repeated itself a few more times, with Frank ending up actually having one of the best nights in a while, until the gong sounded and it was time to leave. He shook more hands and kissed people goodbye, keeping an intent eye on the door to ensure the 'thanks for coming' shot was taken by every person on their way out. Hugo volunteered to lead them all back to town, and five minutes later they wouldn't remember a thing.

Poor saps.

The original four were left to drink in the aftermath in the middle of the filthy floor. Streamers everywhere, balloons sinking, broken glass and spilled drinks splattering the floor.

Riff Raff approaches him with a blue dossier in his hands. Frank, knowing instantly what it was, snatched it from his with a distrusting gaze.

He had needed to have a document like this in his hands for months now, he just had to wait for a time when she wouldn't find out. And you can't get more secure than spending the night in a holding cell.

He slapped it down on the table and all three others gathered around to have a look. The first page was not how personal profiles are normal organised. Thick, black, bold lettering titled the words: criminal record.

All were stunned.

Columbia whispered, 'From the way she reacted, I thought that was her first time.'

'No, look at this,' Frank said gravely, 'it's a mile long. Vandalism, disorderly conduct, public intoxication, vandalism, reckless driving, public intoxication and three more counts in a row, possession of cannabis, vandalism _again_ , petty theft, trespassing...'

The list went on and on, the same misdemeanours circling again and again throughout the document. The first one, Magenta noticed with mothering sort of sadness, was recorded as petty theft at eight years old. Disorderly conduct - or perhaps it would be simple assault? - would be added to the list shortly.

Columbia sighed, 'All that and she's only eighteen.'

'Nineteen. Look, her birth date was two months ago.' Riff pointed out the information as they began to skim through everything else.

Two months ago. The very day the sepsis turned his white mouse blue. No wonder she never said anything.

'She hardly ever went to school until she turned...how old would she have been then, eleven?'

Frank agreed with Magenta. 'Yes, which makes sense, because she told me that's went she came into money.'

'Oh, there's a whole year missing in here!' Frank shook his head, baffled at the incompetence at what these people called 'authority'. 'How on earth was nothing done about her lack of attendance at school?'

Columbia paused her compulsive habit of biting her hot pink thumbnail long enough to say, 'Some people learn how to play the system and others just slip straight through it.'

The medical records included a broken arm at five, a sprained wrist, ankle and knee at fifteen, seven and twelve, respectively, a dislocated joint here and there and the occasional chipped tooth or small fracture. The list was longer then Frank would have liked, but the one injury that struck him as particularly unsettling was multiple lacerations.

'How can one tiny girl get into so many accidents?' Frank tried not to frown too often. It made his forehead crease, therefore rendering his entire face ugly. But now the lines in his clear skin looked deep enough to fit one's hand through.

'Well she _is_ very clumsy,' Columbia pointed out. 'Put her in an empty room and she'd still manage to trip and fall over something.'

'Yes, but on to broken glass though? Here's what's concerning me, these lacerations.' He tapped the entry with the tip of his long red fingernail. 'It says here she received two sutures in her chin, _seven_ in her thigh, god damn, and four in her stomach. You don't get lacerations that deep, or so randomly placed, unless they were inflicted.'

The two girls exchanged a grave look and sighed.

'Frank, don't get carried away-.'

'I'm _not_ I can feel something's not sitting right. According to this date she would have been fourteen - fourteen that's so young - I think someone attacked her.

Magenta made a valid point by asking, 'Then why doesn't she have any scars? Never mind on purpose, these lacerations don't seem to have occurred at all. Less than five years ago is not that long and the marks from the sharp object would still be visible.'

His frustrated thoughts screamed, _why the fuck would it be on a professional record if it never bloody happened?!_

Frank sighed. He pushed himself away from the table and sauntered upstairs. He told the others they could wait until tomorrow to clean everything up but it would be so much easier if they did so now. They understood the indirect command within the deceptively cheery phrase, and got to work.

* * *

Magenta traped downstairs in an exhausted haze. She'd been on her feet at night, her ears were ringing from the obscene music and her throat burned from having to scream to be heard in a normal conversation. She had concluded the last cleaning job of the night by shoving the decorations they didn't use into a random cupboard on the fourth floor, and now all she wanted to do was drink some hot tea and tumble into bed.

Except, on her way down, she heard a noise.

It was a very distinctive noise. She'd heard it many a time before, although the true number of occurrences was bound to her by a blood oath of secrecy. She had also lost count of how many times she'd been the one to stop this familiar noise from disturbing anyone else. At her dearly missed house in Transylvania, at those weird underground parties that always ended on a sour note, during the times when she herself was struggling and there was no obvious solution to her problems, and now, here, in this shitty house on this shitty planet in a shitty situation within a shitty part of life.

Frank was crying.

His door yawned wide open which meant he was looking for attention above all else. She could do with a good cry herself right now, so she took her chances and crept in.

The room was dark. The curtains were drawn. Not a single candle had been ignited. Magenta's eyes adjusted until she could see the outline of Frank's body sprawled across the bed. He lay flat, face down, hands locked behind his head as he sniffled and sobbed into his pillow. The silken case was torn and the bed still covered in various unidentified fluids as she hadn't had the opportunity to clean it yet.

Her unsteady gait was even more pronounced now that there was no sound to mask the irregular rhythm of her heels on wooden flooring, so she needn't say a word for Frank to know it was her. She would have been shunned from his presence by now if that wasn't the case.

Her limp only became obvious when she was tired. And she was currently very tired. She never had any problems with mobility before, at least not until _someone_ saw fit to fling her down the stairs... As miraculous as her recovery was, she'd never be able to walk properly again. Magenta saw it as a permanent reminded of unimaginable betrayal and agony - Frank just saw it as a badge of pride.

'Frank...' She cooed. An episode was on its way: a week an a half at the latest. She hated having to pander to him like this, but it had to be done. For the sake of her brother, for the sake of her girls, and for the day upon which she'd finally return home, it had to be done.

Not for the man himself. No, not at all. He could die the next day and her life wouldn't change. But the others needed him - and that was not their fault - therefore everything she ever did to Frank, with Frank, for Frank... every motive was designed for them.

'Frank, don't cry...'

'She just makes it so hard. So _hard!_ If she won't respect me but I can't send her back either, what am I supposed to do?'

She reassured him with a firm, 'Nothing. You don't have to do anything differently. She loves you very much -' he groaned again '- she just doesn't think her actions will affect anyone because she's not used to being wanted, or having people care about her. This new way of life is so different for her, and she's finding it difficult to adjust. You of all people should know what that feels like.' He made a noise of begrudging agreement. 'And, you should also empathise with how long that process can take. It doesn't happen overnight, she will relapse and she will regress. It's one steps forward and two steps back with this sort of thing. All you have to do is not give up on her. She certainly hasn't given up on you.'

 _Keep your Sprite alive, Magenta. That's all you have to do._

'And what if she never adjusts? What if she keeps rebelling and it just gets worse from here? What if I can't build it to the same quality as last time, or it takes me twice as long, because she takes up all my attention? My work is very important and I can't be with her all the time, what if something bad happens to her? What if it _fails_ and I'm forced to part with her? I just-!'

Frank broke down again in real tears this time. Magenta couldn't help but hold him tightly and rest her head on top of his, shushing him and petting him in case she started to cry herself.

'Oh, Magenta, I don't know what to do!' They held hands until it was painful. One might have mistaken the maid for breaking down alongside the scientist, but his own convulsions wracked her own body with their excruciating intensity. 'I just want to go home!'

'I know,' she murmured, 'I know. I do too. And we will. One day we'll get there. You musn't ever give up, Frank, promise me that. Not only for yourself, but for me, for Riff, for your people, for your rivals, for your fiercely loyal Columbia, and for your desperately deserving little mouse. All of us, together, we have to keep fighting, but we can't do it without you.'

This helped, solely because Magenta had managed to inflate his ego while seemingly comforting him at the same time. Frank took a huge breath in and quietened down. He shuffled closer to her and held her tighter, neither needing to say any more.

Magenta just happened to look up in time to see Sprite vacating her room, to join them up here no doubt. It seemed he wasn't overly dangerous (this time) and Magenta really needed to sleep. Therefore she notified Frank happily, having no qualms about the girl taking over from her, as he seemed to have almost calmed down now anyway.

Frank surprised her by tensing all over before sitting up slightly. The movement was aggressive, annoyed almost, and asked from his head conking her in the chin, something was afoot here.

'She's hurt,' Frank rumbled. 'She was scared of me at first. She tried to run and she fell. She shouldn't be able to be walking.'

The next thing seen on the camera, Frank was not told about. Magenta saw her brother creeping out of the little girl's room and back up towards the lab. Her heart sank. A hollow ache settled in her stomach.

He must have given her something. Which directly violates the rules. Any and all medical solutions, concoctions or mixtures were to be used on the artificial human and nothing (or no one) else. Why on earth did he use something on her? Riff barely even looked at her most days, and she even recalled him telling her that he found the girl annoying! Too clingy and whining all the time and constantly getting herself into trouble like a much younger child who just can't help themselves. The three of them were hardly known for following the rules, and it had already been decided that they would secretly use anything on each other if they were to need it, but why the fuck would Riff put their mission in jeopardy for someone like her?

The door creaked open, followed by a soft, 'Frankie? Oh, sorry Magenta, I didn't realise you were in here.'

The girl's posture was demure and slightly fearful, with her half claps in front of her, feet together, shoulders at a subtle curve as she anticipated the happenings of something worse.

If she was hurt before, she certainly wasn't now. There was no hiding that from anyone, Riff would just have to admit to it and hope the beating wouldn't be too severe given the person the illegality was inflicted upon.

Magenta untangled herself from Frank (who was much better now) and stood up. 'Did my brother give you something?'

She looked at Frank before nodding, which they both saw. It was clear Sprite thought she was in trouble, but she also didn't know why.

Magenta exchanges her own grave look with Frank and they both sighed. 'Alright, well, he wasn't supposed to have done that-.'

'-He only wanted to help.'

'- I know, dear, but it's not allowed. We can't do anything about it now but you mustn't tell anyone, do you understand?'

'She's right, darling, it's irresponsible of him to give you substances without consulting me first.' Frank had her sit beside him slung an arm around her shoulders protectively. 'If it happens again you must say no and come straight to me, understand?'

Magenta closed her eyes and waited for the onslaught. For question after question after question that would dig them into a hole so big they might not be able to get out of it.

'Okay.'

The whispered response took then both by surprise, but Magenta wasted no more time before finally getting out. She bid them both goodnight and made a beeline for her brother.

* * *

The sight of Magenta in the lab stunned Riff Raff more then he thought he had the capacity for. He thought he could hide away in here as she'd never date barge in with permission, but apparently not.

'Why the _fuck_ did you do that for?' Magenta was seething. He'd never seen her like this before - and it aches his heart to think he was the one who caused it. 'Now your stupid decision has roped her into this as well! You don't know much about her but I do, she's naive, Riff, she doesn't know what she's saying half the time! Luckily for you I managed to delete the few seconds of footage but all it takes is one slip of the tongue and there's more evidence against us! I am not going to sound my time rummaging through hours after hours of footage every time she, or indeed anyone, says something that could be interpreted in the wrong way. Aside from a waste of my time, that's illegal too, so now I have something to hide as well!' He really thought she was going to strike him. And for a minute, she might have done - but then she sighed. 'You've never been this sloppy before,' she said. 'What's gotten into you?'

He knew. Riff knew better than anyone, but he couldn't say. He tried to justify it to himself by simply doing his master's job for him: speeding up the process, if you like. It was feasible, but it wasn't true. The real reason for his need to keep the girl alive was on the tip of Riff's tongue, but it couldn't come out. Not yet. It wasn't the right time.

When the girl had been struck down with sepsis, he had come upon his master sitting on the floor outside her room. The curtains drawn, candlelight throwing menacing shadows (that seemed to move and dance) on the wall. The four walls were one corpse away from masquerading as a tomb - and that didn't seem too far behind.

He had drawn his legs up to shield himself from the prying eyes of the outside world, glittering elbows resting on meshed knees as he simply existed there and sobbed.

'I hate this bit,' he cried. Riff thought he had an inclination of him standing there, but even now he still wasn't sure. 'I hate this bit.'

He had very nearly almost said it then, but something stopped him. Instead, he had stepped over the pile of misery on the floor and continued his way down to his bedroom for yet another restless night.

Somehow he knew. The butterfly effect of that monumental confession... it would render them all dead.

Riff ordered Magenta out before she was caught in the lab, and he never tried to help the girl again.

* * *

 **Keep on testing me, and end up like her.**

Candy Store - _Heathers_

* * *

 **I like how this is supposed to be so dark, and immoral, and obscene and all I can think of to illustrate it is musical theatre and Disney songs.**

 **Alma Oakley.**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**My goodness me it's been a while.**

 **Luna: My anonymous babe, thank you so much for commenting so soon on each instalment - do you just sit at your computer all day waiting to pounce on it? A while to go yet I'm afraid, but I implore you... please don't explode.**

 **CherCrew8: I'm sorry to hear you are not a fan of the way I've chosen to portray Frank this time. He does have a heart somewhere, I'm sure, but I appreciate your feedback all the same!**

 **Mr. Knightman: Steaminess is not my forte. ;)**

 **LandyShadow: My old faithful, thanks once again for the lovely comments!**

 **Shoutout to TitaHightopp05 and theclockworkharlequin for the favourites and PM support!**

 **The guys are getting restless. They haven't had attention for five whole seconds.**

* * *

Upon finding the castle in total darkness, Hugo was mindful to be quiet when he returned to the house. He eased the door closed and locked it. His precision was painful, and although this was not necessary, Hugo understood he was only a guest. These legendary people, these cultural giants - they didn't have to take him in. Despite knowing (with an almost unshakeable certainty) that Frank would laugh at him if he knew this, Hugo still had trouble believing Frank was his friend in the first place. And he was eternally grateful for that connection every day. Therefore, his mind told him any mistake - no matter how small or innocent - could send him on his way. The man checked the security once more and crept through the corridors.

His night-vision wasn't great. His hearing, in contrast, was exceptional. He had to walk around like a zombie (arms outstretched, feet shuffling), otherwise he'd stumble into something. The embarrassing scenario had happened far too many times before.

How did you break your arm? Win a fight? Rescue a damsel in distress?

'No, I walked into a door...'

A fair compromise, he supposed, for the ability to hear a butterfly's wing beat.

Or a little mouse crying.

A tiny, snuffled sort of whimper caught his attention. Had Hugo realised what it was at first, he would have ran towards it without hesitation. But he didn't, so he tried (and failed) to fall asleep for twenty minutes before he realised it was Celie crying.

He found her on a random sofa in a random place in a random part of the house. Frank called this area The Labyrinth Wing, because apparently everything got lost in there. Important papers, clothes, silverware, cosmetics, sex toys... once it was taken into here it never came back out again. This unusual wing, besides the odd piece of broken furniture, featured nothing but cupboards and cabinets. Hugo couldn't imagine how many treasures (and the enthralling stories they held!) had been collated and stored in these units over the years. He had even less information as to why shy little Celie had taken herself off here to vent her frustrations.

Why wasn't she in her room? Why did she choose somewhere so secluded? Why hadn't Frank found her before he did? He knew where she was at all time and almost had a stroke when he didn't. Had Frank really not gone looking for her?

Hugo rubbed his eyes, forcing them to adjust. Blinking the stars away, he wondered if vigour like that caused blindness. Just a few more seconds and...

There she was.

Frank's favourite toy - weathered, dirtied, well-cuddled - lay before the man in a miserable heap. She faced the high red back of the faded chaise lounge while she sobbed. Almost as if, Hugo pondered, she expected (maybe even wanted) somebody to find her after all. From the ugly sounds she made and the unladylike position she sprawled in, she seemed to have been there a while.

Sprite herself was unsure how long she'd been there. If she had slept, she was unaware of it. Her head pounded, her ears rang, her nose was stuffed to ugly, bubbling capacity. Every fibre of her being just ached with excrtiating grief.

Guilt. Sadness. Embarrassment. Anger. Humiliation. Fear. All these negative emotions had to be mixed and defined somehow. Sprite could only imagine this was how it felt when someone died.

She had never been close enough to anyone to understand that herself.

She had come to a moronic conclusion. She thought that sitting in Frank's room in his strong, protective arms meant forgiveness. Her little authoritarian blip was all water under the bridge now! She couldn't wait to get back to clunking their unorthodox way through that abstract concept... What was it called? Love?

With the two of them left in the room then, their conversation went like this:

'I'm sorry.'

'I know. Now get out.'

The seething conviction made her jump (not to mention the utter surprise supporting it) and for a moment Sprite thought Frank was joking. She had been snarled at and flung over the threshold by her hair before she realised he wasn't.

Even she had to admit she'd been massively naive with that one.

So she came here. Without the comfort of her bed, for she was too embarrassed to be seen by the girls on her way to her room, confined to a space too small for even her hair to lie comfortably. She didn't even have Toothless with her anymore. She had seen him sitting on Frank's bedside table but didn't quite have the nerve to take him with her.

All she could do now was lay there. Wallowing in her self-pity, she thought about what an awful person she was. About how little she deserved each and every one of them. She even had the courage, in some dreamy kind of wonder, to muse whether this occurrence would be the one to finally push her over the edge.

She felt the presence of someone behind her. Almost simultaneously, tender fingers began to run through her hair.

Instant rage filled her, and she kicked her leg out, hard. A satisfied grin ruined her sweet face at the cry of pain she elicited.

'Ow, for fuck's sake, Celie! There's no need to be so vicious.'

'Oh!' The exclamation ripped itself out of her (she sounded far too guilty - damn, she'd been working on that!) and she scrambled to sit upright. 'Sorry, Hugo.' Her head dropped. She spent so much of her time looking at the floor now. She mumbled, 'I thought you were Frank.'

Hugo smiled (he tried to appear sympathetic) and took a seat next to her. The cushion was damp. He sincerely hoped it was tears. 'That's alright, dear. Now, tell me what's making you so upset... and why on Earth does Frank deserve a kicking?'

She told him everything. Nary a pause to question it.

'Celie...' Hugo gathered her up close, tucking her head under his chin. It was a while before he decided what to say. 'How on Earth did you manage that? You were only gone for an hour!'

Sprite appreciated the attempt to humour her, but it didn't work. It relaxed her so much to feel Hugo's chest rise - but the sigh that came out was reproachful.

'It was a misunderstanding though, wasn't it?''

'Of course it was-!'

'Alright, Celie, it's okay. Please don't get upset again.'

She swallowed hard and snuggled even closer to Hugo's warmth. He was strong and tall and protective, she felt very safe when she was with him.

'I've ruined everything,' Sprite whispered. 'Frank spends so much of his time to give me everything I need, he makes me so happy. All I've done, numerous times, is throw it back in his face and now he hates me.'

Hugo tutted, sounding as thought someone had hurt him. He had seen Frank soothe her before (the man was an expert at it) and Hugo attempted to emulate that. He rubbed her back, he played with her hair, he spoke with a gentle voice.

'Well you _know_ that's not true. Celie, Frank adores you. It's harder for you to notice, but when you're a boring person like me with nothing else to do with their free time, I see the way he looks at you. I've been around long enough to know he doesn't act that way or do those things for just anyone. One has to be very rare to capture Frank's heart and mind the way you have. You're everything to him now. And, if you did have a bit of a nasty falling out, it's obvious that he only did what he did because you scared him. The thought of loosing you petrifies him, sweetpea. I know that much.'

'Please stay longer,' she said. 'Don't go back.'

She didn't want to acknowledge his words. Nor to thank him for his kindness. She just needed him there for a while.

'I have to, I'm afraid.' He kissed the top of her head, something they had both been waiting for. Frank could be watching, however it was so minor they doubted even he would be that petty.

'I can't stay away from home forever. But that won't be on my agenda for a while yet, so don't go worrying about that as well, okay?'

She agreed. He grinned.

'Now I think,' Hugo continued, 'this is the perfect time for you to open up about all the other things weighing you down. You say you're happier than you've ever been but I can tell you keep a lot of secrets. I know you don't like to be a 'burden' to Frank so... if you won't tell him, will you at least tell me?'

A credit due to Hugo's natural gift for drawing information out of people, the words just fell out. Perhaps it was a good thing he seemed to be unaware of it. Otherwise he'd be the most powerful and dangerous person in the world

The man heard not just what he asked to hear, but everything. Every little hardship that had ever blocked brave Celie's way tumbled on to Hugo's patient ears.

From childhood, to school, to alcoholism, to isolation, to illness.

To her arrival, to the possible pregnancy, to the sex, to the vomiting, to the pills.

To Frank. Each and every awful, toxic, dehumanising, criminal aspect of the man who essentially saved her life.

Even, it choked her up to admit, to the laboratory. No expense - or details - spared.

The former stirred no reaction in Hugo. He merely sat there and looked pained, yes, but resigned and accepting. He must have known his dear friend could be a monster at times. Perhaps it had even affected him once or twice.

The latter seemed to stun him.

He sat, like before, but frozen. A statue, a wax likeness, a ventriloquist dummy. He had changed. Not much, but enough to notice (if, like Sprite, you had been training yourself to catch the tiniest signs within the mundane). It made it so much easier to know when to run.

Her breath hitched in her throat again. 'If you want to go, I understand.'

On that cursed night, Frank had said her eyes were that much more mesmerising with the sparkle of tears in them.

If only he could see them now.

'I wasn't even supposed to tell you, Frank threatened me with-.'

Sprite was about to say 'Frank threatened me murder' but Hugo silenced her. With his tongue. By putting it in her mouth and halfway down her throat.

Ten minutes later they'd copulated. The first time.

The night somehow lasted somewhere between eons and seconds. Perhaps it was both too long and too short at the same time. When she woke up in an undecorated sex room (Frank had shown her all of them first, calling them 'all-purpose rooms', and for some reason she had guffawed with laughter) she knew it was over.

Hugo laid in a deep sleep beside her. Butt naked, as was she, if she could bite the bullet and lift the covers.

She didn't remember making a cognitive decision to have sex with him. It seemed, if her tangled mess of memories served her correctly, that he didn't either. At least, he didn't seem to. It sort of just happened, as if it were a completely automatic response. Inhale, exhale, blink once, blink twice, cock in, cock out. One minute she'd been expecting lethal exposure and the next she was riding an intergalactic giant. It just happened.

In the present, however, as her fleeting lover began to stir, a cognitive thought did manage to register inside her head.

I am in so much trouble.

* * *

Sprite committed an act of cowardice. This was not the first time. In fact, she had all but lost count. She was pretty used to the negative feelings now, but this particular instance caused her the most shame.

She spend a night of passion with a man she actually liked - He even liked her in return! Unheard of! - and bolted before he'd even opened his eyes.

At least the walk of shame was but two staircases long. Every cloud.

She walked in and clutched her heart in shock.

'Oh, dear God!'

Columbia was sitting on her bed. The girl was hardly scary, but the surprise of it almost killed Sprite.

'Columbia, you scared the shit out of me.' Sprite laughed as she pushed the door closed. 'What are you doing in here?'

Sprite began to notice one or two abnormalities. Her friend's eyes were red and swollen, runny makeup smeared over her skin. She sat with a curved spine, hunched over and fearful. The main thing worrying Sprite was how still she was. Columbia always fidgeted - she played with her hair, she drummed her fingers on the table, she kicked and swung her legs. But now she was just sat there. Staring.

'Tink?' Her voice was all but gone, gravely and strained where it remained. 'Please can I stay with you?'

Sprite knelt down to see her at eye level. 'Of course you can! Why, what's going on?' Columbia hung her head. With a knowing sigh, Sprite asked, 'Are you and Magenta still not talking?'

'Nope.'

Sprite sighed again, moving to sit on the bed with her. 'Is it the thing with the records? She still hadn't owned up?'

'No it's more than that now. All of a sudden she's startled being so horrible to me and I don't even know why!'

She cuddled into Sprite and began to cry again. Goodness me, Sprite thought, everyone in this house is as unstable as each other.

'How long have you been in here?'

'All night.'

'Why didn't you come and find me before?'

'You were upset enough. I heard you crying for ages.' She lifted her face from Sprite's chest, smiling a little. 'I did try to go to you, but Frankie wouldn't let me.' Said you had to face the consequences, or some other moral high ground bullshit.'

They giggled.

Sprite asked what made Columbia leave, what made her so upset she couldn't even share a room with her best friend anymore. Columbia went on to explain some awful things - how Magenta told her she never belonged with them, she was at fault for slowing Frank's work down, she was tolerated at best, she didn't deserve Frank, and he deserved better than her.

Columbia was a sobbing mess by the time she finished. Poor girl. She never put a foot wrong, always tried to make others happy. She hadn't even wanted this. Her whole life seemed to be a series of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

'Oh, Columbia I'm so sorry...' she stroked her fading red hair, quite at a loss with what to do. 'I can't fathom why Magenta would be acting like that, and for it to be so sudden!'

'Well, you wouldn't. That's the point, she loves you. She wouldn't dream of hurting you, none of them would. I know you didn't ask to be here any more than I did, but I'm starting to feel a little betrayed.'

They hugged tighter.

'How long have you been here?'

'Four years last week.'

'Has Magenta been this way before?'

'Not since the very beginning, when she didn't know me.'

'Then it must be something else.' Sprite poured all the reassurance she could into her voice. 'Magenta must be feeling down. And, as inexcusable as it is, she's taking it out on you rather than telling anyone about it. You know Magenta, she hates being vulnerable.' Columbia grunted in begrudging agreement. 'Do you want me to talk to her?' Sprite suggested brightly. 'I could find out what's going on, maybe help you two make friends again?'

Columbia thanked her, but declined. The girl looked exhausted, all she wanted to do now was go to sleep. Sprite did her best to make her comfortable and went to offer her Toothless - and then remembered something.

'Do you want your unicorn?'

The sheets rustled. 'What?'

'Your unicorn. Frank told me about it - sorry if it embarrasses you - but he said you had a cuddly unicorn? Called Dave, or something?'

It was one of those inexplicable silences where you could just _tell_ someone was smirking.

Sprite promised, 'I won't tell anyone you still use him.'

'Fine. It's under my bed next to the cushions. And he's called Tim.'

Man. She liked Dave better.

Sprite trotted along the corridor, floorboards creaking under her bare feet. The atmosphere seemed to be sighing. People just kept falling out all the time. She hoped it wouldn't be too long before this blip smoothed out. She did love it here, with this dysfunctional family, but all of a sudden there seemed to be a tension there that no one could define.

No one was in there when she arrived at Columbia's room, so she was free to snoop around as much as she liked.

Magenta and Columbia were the human version of yin and yang. The room was cut exactly in half - deep wine, rich purple and lacy black on one side, luminous yellow, hot pink and bright blue on the other. Negligees and intricate vanity mirrors to contrast faded throws and cheap cosmetics. What had been salvaged of Columbia's extensive music collection had been piled onto her loud quilt. Sprite squeaked a single laugh at the gleaming handcuffs and leather harnesses on Magenta's. Even the smell differed on each side. Thrones roses, black cherry and musky perfume to coconut oil, energy drinks and sour lollipops.

They complimented one another. Balanced each other out. Completed the other. Their sudden gulf between them... it was heartbreaking.

Sprite dropped to her knees and wriggled under the bed. She groped through the chords of hair dryers and straightening irons, threw odd shoes out of the way and found a neglected pair of Minnie Mouse ears. God, Columbia was so messy. It's a wonder she was able to find anything under here.

She spied the holographic horn glinting at her from the very recesses of the pile. She conked her head as she stood up to leave. Ow. Embarrassing.

Sprite settled Columbia in her room, locked the door to give her some privacy and wandered downstairs to make some tea. Her bones felt like they were aching without that drink now. As if, she chuckled to herself, she really did have a problem.

The girl was lolling against the island (no one was around today, the atmosphere was getting weird), sipping her tea ('don't slurp, darling, it's dreadfully unladylike') when she spotted Toothless.

At least, she thought it was him. The suggestion of black horns peered above the back of the living room sofa. She crossed the open plan area in wonder and confirmed: yes, it was definitely him. Hadn't that been left in Frank's room? What on Earth was it doing down here?

She stepped around to face the stuffed character, and, along with a pink and black box, saw a luminous yellow post-it stuck to his front left foot.

She pulled it off with an insatiably curious frown, and it read:

 _Come up to me when you're ready, my darling. I think we need to talk._

 _PS: this guy nagged me_ _all night_ _\- I think he missed you! He also wanted to know -_ the message continued on the back - _if I had gotten you anything for your birthday. Don't open the box just yet. I want it to be a surprise._

Sprite rolled her eyes, the biggest of cheesy grins fixated on her face. She knew her face was as an ugly shade of red, but for once, as she was alone, she glad of it. She necked the rest of her tea like a lukewarm shot, tucked Toothless under her arm to better grip the mystery box, and began the precarious journey up the stairs.

Still smiling, as the whimsical, loved up girl had been since she noticed the dragon, she made to enter Frank's bedroom, and shot backwards from the door handle as if it were scalding hot.

What was she doing? Was he not the man who, just last night, crushed her until her ribs cracked? Frightened her into a delirium? Put her through unimaginable pain, punished her mercilessly for something no one could've seen coming, and left her thinking she might die curled up on her bed with a raving party in full swing downstairs?

Who (her thoughts seemed to be whispering now) wouldn't come to her no matter how desperately she sobbed or how shrilly she screamed?

No. Fuck that. She wasn't doing that. Not so soon, at least. Making up should be on her terms, not his, for she had done nothing wrong. For once.

She left the toy and the box on the floor outside his room. She had a mind to pen a sentimental note of her own. _Fuck you_ \- or - _I'm running away_ \- or - _I'm not really upset, I just want to pretend I have an ounce of strength left and in thirty minutes or less I'll come back for forehead kisses and a lullaby._

But for now, she hadn't been caught, so for now, she was going to sulk.

Sprite sloped off to a guest room - and found Hugo sitting in there.

She jumped a mile for the second time that day. Along with the dramatic clutching of the palpitating heart and the scandalised demanding of what he was doing in there.

Somewhat irritatingly, he smiled at her.

'Sit down, Celie.'

She sat. Somehow, without question, a picture of perfect submission, she sat. Plonked herself down on the faded chair set out opposite Hugo's, both pieces stained with something white and dried and definitely not yogurt.

Why did this feel like an upcoming therapy session?

Hugo lit a cigarette (Frank, she noticed, tried not to smoke in front of her) and gestured for her to start talking. Instead, she merely frowned. Was she supposed to know what this was about?

She posed to him that exact question, to which he threw his head back and laughed.

'Forgotten last night already, have you?'

 _What? Oh, for fucks sake._ 'Did you really bring me in here to have a discussion about-?!'

'Now if you're clever, you'll let me finish.' The man had such an unreadable spark dancing in his eyes. Whatever was going on here, Sprite didn't like it. She didn't like it at all.

Hugo continued. 'First of all, I was just going to say that you needn't worry about our companionship. Sex rarely means that much to us - there are far better ways of showing people, however many, that you love them.'

'Okay,' Sprite said, still bored and incredulous. 'I wasn't worried anyway.' _Don't give him the satisfaction if he's going to be so condescending._ 'I used to play with my old friends all the time.'

'I still don't want Frank to find out.'

'What? Why?'

'Because,' Hugo tapped a clump of grey ash onto the cream carpet. See, again, disrespectful! 'Frank owns you.'

'He does not-!'

'He obsesses over you more than anyone I've ever seen. He does love you, I think, but he's possessive and infatuated as well. He wants you all to himself, and - to quote directly - "if anyone laid a finger on her, I'd kill them. I wouldn't even have to think about it.". So, if Frank caught wind of our forbidden playtime, I'd be sent back before I knew it.'

Sprite tutted. 'No you wouldn't, you're his closest friend! I thought he cared about you.'

'Oh, he does. Deeply so. I wouldn't be tortured, or made an example of, or executed like anyone else. But I'd still be at home, which is exactly the place I came here looking to escape.'

'Why did you decide to leave?' Sprite was still frowning. There was something about this conversation - an undertone or a missed clue - that she wasn't getting. She only knew that, for whatever reason, this scenario made her very uneasy.

'I got bored. Transylvania is a fascinating, beautiful place, full of culture and history. I'm incredibly proud to belong to them. However when you live there your whole life, you start to crave the unexplored. Do something for no reason, the spontaneity of it, understand?' She nodded. 'Sometimes I even do things one might consider a little nastier. Well, perhaps unnecessary would be a better word. Nasty, as you'll have learnt by now, has nothing to do with me.'

She found herself raising an eyebrow. _Really?_

'I do it because it excites me. I find it thrilling. Seeing how circumstances effect a person, and what those effects can do to people around them, I find that fascinating.'

'So you wind people up on purpose to see how they react?' Sprites first and only thought in regards to this matter was this: _you need to get a life_.

'Human sciences. Never got to study the subject myself but I always wanted to.' Hugo stumped out the cigarette on the arm of the chair and flicked it away. And all of a sudden, Sprite knew, this dreamy honeymoon period was roaring to a close. 'I suppose that could offer one explanation as to why I tampered with that whiny Earthlings shitty music collection.'

Sprite honestly felt her heart fall out of her ass. Her entire face just became her mouth in that moment. She hadn't known it could fall open so quickly.

'It _was_ you!' Out of nowhere, Sprite bit back furious sobs. 'You destroyed Columbia's records?!' He was reclining there, chilled, and smirking at her. 'And you've let Magenta take the blame for it this whole time? Why the fuck did you do that, neither of them have done anything to you! Columbia is _heartbroken_ , and have you _seen_ Magenta's face?'

The poor girl was currently sporting a black eye visible from space. No prizes for guessing who put _that_ there...

He sighed. 'I did it because that nonsensical girl annoys me. She shouldn't even be here, for a start. She makes little to no contribution to this house, she whines, she's forever on overdrive, she's neurotic...'

'Well I don't know why you think I'd keep that a secret,' Sprite spat, standing up angrily to run out of the room and tell tales. 'I'm sure I can cope with the guilt - _you're_ not something I'd lose sleep over. You've ruined Columbia, she cherished her friendship with Magenta more than anything in the whole world. I've never known anyone as indiscriminately loyal as her. She's accepted that Frank, for the time being, has chosen me, so without Magenta or her love of music, that poor girl has nothing!'

'She'd still have her boyfriend,' Hugo commented. The undertone was so sly, so vindictive and so downright heartless that it took Sprite's breath away. She stopped dead, hand on the door handle, poised to make a run for it. 'Oh wait, she doesn't have that either. What a shame. That, however, is nothing to do with me, now is it?'

She turned back as if in slow motion. The whole of her tiny frame trembled with white hot rage. Because without warning, the situation had flipped and Hugo held all the cards.

All of a sudden, she loathed his gleaming smile, and all of a sudden, she loathed his twinkling eyes.

'By all means, clear your own conscience if that's what you want. But I'd just advise to keep in mind that for every secret you tell of mine, I might just have to tell one of yours as well.' He shrugged in a mock-helpless gesture. His once-charming grin made her want to cry. 'An eye for an eye and all that.'

In a fit of desperate grief, last night she _had_ told him everything. He was prepared to tell everyone anything to secure his own place here. And Sprite knew for a fact - Columbia especially - would shun her.

Sprite vaguely heard Hugo's explanation of how he did it. He explained Frank had tasked him with removing the recorded footage from last night, as these public parties were not technically legal affairs. And from then on, he could delete anything he wanted. He had already removed their stolen night of passion while Frank had been working, but the infamous vinyl affair has been taken care of on the very same day as the incident.

'I crept in while you were sleeping. You and Frank looked so cute, holding onto each other in dreamland like that. His arms snaked firmly around you, your head resting comfortably on his chest. It was too adorable. Anyway, I cleaned up there and, after your little fiasco, Frank never got around to questioning me in the end.'

'He'll remember eventually,' Sprite snapped. 'How will this ever be resolved if no one knows who did it?'

'Well, I suppose you'll just have to take the blame for me.'

She flew from the room before doing something she'd regret. Her body reacted without her consent, as if protecting her from harm.

Never in her life had she ever felt so angry. How dare he soothe her and coax answers out of her only to cruelly use them against her? How... how dare he?

How could she have been so stupid? Did she really run from one manipulative man into the arms or another?

Well, at least one good thing came out of this. Burning with rage, wrestling back hot tears and feeling desperately alone, now she _really_ wanted Frank.

* * *

Sprite knew she couldn't go to Frank right away. She had to keep her detour as well hidden as possible. So, she went to the nearest bathroom, turned on the shower to muffle the noise and cried her enraged heart out over the sink. She let no more than ten minutes pass. Hopefully now, she thought as she tidied up her face, she wouldn't be as hysterical went she went to Frank. Any tears she did cry would be assumed as ones of guilt.

Box and dragon in her arms like babies, she used her elbow to awkwardly knock on the door. Unnoticed before, another note had been stuck to the door, which read: _even if you have already opened the box, at least act surprised. Humour me._

Frank called for her to come in.

She stood in the wide open doorway for a beat or two, debating what to say. She already looked like she'd been crying, which, for once, was a good thing. She needed sympathy more than anything, and seeing Frank made the hot tears swell up all over again.

Sprite managed to whimper, 'Do you still love me?' before bursting into tears.

'Oh, darling, come here...'

Frank got up from the bed which he had been reclining on (waiting for his poor little mouse to come running) and guided her over. He sat with his back against the soft pillows and gathered her up close, tucking her head under his chin. The exact way her and Hugo had cuddled the night before, as Frank would have known had he not been holed up in the lab, taking his violent fury out on Riff Raff.

'It's alright now, mousy... I'm here, I'm here... my brave girl, please don't cry...' he rocked her gently as he had done many a time before. It seemed she still didn't realise her actions bared no relevance - for he would always forgive her. Frank wasn't sure whether that was a quality or a flaw. 'Listen, my lamb... I was angry. I was disappointed, I was hurt. But mostly, I was scared. The thought of loosing you terrifies me, little one. Imagining...' he sighed, 'leaving you in the hands of strangers, not knowing where you are, all the things that could happen to you...' a shudder ran through him and he clasped her even closer. He whispered, 'It doesn't bear thinking about.'

The room was silent except for sniffles and hiccups.

'I'm sorry.'

'I know.' He sat up properly and prised her away. Holding her at arms length, making her look at him and stroking her hair behind her ears. 'And of _course_ I still love you,' Frank said vehemently, giving her a playful shove. 'How could I not? Lessie, you're everything to me now. When are you going to realise that?'

She lowered her head, smiling a little now. 'In at least one more day, Frankie.'

She snuggled back into Frank again, not ready to be away from him just yet. They needn't say anything. Both were content with appreciating the other's presence. Sprite tried to memorise the warmth of his chest, the strength of his arms, the infinite security of his embrace, the softness of his gentle kisses over her forehead.

This was the time. If she were ever going to be brave enough to tell him, this was the time. It was perfect: no one was talking, they were relaxed, cozy, happy. Go on, Sprite, do it now. Just say it, quickly, while you have the chance. Will it kill anyone? No! Sprite for fuck's sake just tell him-!

'Did you open the box?'

Well, look at that. You've ruined it now.

She grinned. 'No.'

He gasped. 'No? Oh, I don't believe that.' He tickled her arms slightly, smirking at her. 'You've peeked, I know you have.'

'I haven't, she giggled, 'I swear I haven't looked.'

'Promise?'

'Yes!'

She jumped at the tickling sensation, squirming around in his lap. The immediate flash of mischief in his eyes told her she'd just made a big mistake.

Their light playing escalated into a violent tickle fight then, scored by the usual 'Don't _scream!_ ' followed by the classic 'Don't tickle me then!'

No wonder they never got anything done between them. They were both so easily distracted.

Oh God, should she tell him?

Sprite shuffled closer to Frank and laid on her back across his lap. That deep adoration, which she'd been noticing a lot of, of late, warmed his eyes beautifully. Her eyes closed helplessly when he started petting her hair.

'Is it really a present for me?'

'Mmhmm.' Sprite didn't have to open her eyes to know he was smiling. 'For my darling.'

'How did you even know about my birthday?'

'Toothless told me.'

She cracked one eye open, stifling giggles. 'Of course he did.'

'He did! He was dreadfully upset with me for separating the two of you - said you hadn't been apart for even one night since the day he was brought to you as a birthday present. He asked me if I had gotten you anything for your nineteenth and...' he reached over and took the box, 'I thought _this_ ,' he drummed his fingers on the lid excitedly, 'would be the perfect thing.' A massive grin broke across his face. 'Shall we open it now?'

Despite the childishness is the situation, Sprite really did feel excitement start to grow in her stomach. Suppressing an apprehensive grin of her own, she nodded once.

It really was a very pretty box. Black velvet. Soft. She had to resist rubbing her cheek against it, which she often did with everything from blankets to curtains as a child. A pastel pink ribbon had been tied in a bow over the top. The same, she thought, as that dreaded tank had been. Thinking about it didn't stir anything within her: the very first time.

She loosened the ribbon, enjoying the thin _sheen_ of silk upon silk, and ran her fingertips over the rich velvet. Hopefully she wouldn't get a static shock.

'Come on, woman, you're driving me crazy!' She screamed and jumped out of her skin, almost hurling the box away in the process.

'What the fuck-?!'

' _Open the damn box!_ ' Frank stressed, his hands on her cheeks now. He was smiling, so she knew there was no real danger, but holy fuck was he scary. 'Stop petting it and look inside! I want to know what you think!'

 _I bet it's a strap-on_ , she thought wildly as she lifted the lid, _or some other extreme sex toy, or one of those full body things made out of latex-._

Well, it was an outfit, she saw as she peeled away the tissue paper. Black, a lot of sparkles. And some kind of accessory became visible as she lifted the material from the box by its thin straps. A headband of sorts. Hang on was that... were those mouse ears-?

Okay. Fine. Right idea, wrong approach.

Her face caught on fire, she tried to dash, half squealing half crying, but of course Frank wouldn't let her. He seized her before she could run, cackling, and held her tight against him.

'Oh, my little mouse, are you embarrassed?' He simpered. Sprite felt his chest moving as he laughed. 'Look at you, blushing like a rose! There's no need to be so _bashful_ , my love. Although it is adorable.' He grinned again, tousling her hair. 'Is it the ears? Too childish for you?'

'Frankie!' She exclaimed, hiding her burning face away in his chest. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. For a few seconds, he squeezed her back properly, then reverted to teasing her again. 'It's very beautiful, and I appreciate it a lot, but...' she looked at the skimpy outfit again and sighed. 'I can't wear something like that!'

His smile broadened. 'Why ever not?

'Because I'll feel silly!

'And?'

He'd known right away there was another reason. How was he so good at this? 'Because I - it won't look - h-how you hope it will look.'

He sent her a meaningful look, all playfulness gone for a second. 'You mean _you_ won't look good enough.' All of a sudden, she felt simply rotten. She lowered her head and nodded. 'I had a feeling you'd say that.' Frank tilted her chin up and pecked her gently on the lips. 'And I also thought you'd spoil the surprise for yourself, so,' he reached up to the shelf above him and pulled down more boxes, 'these two are also for you.'

The first one contained her phone.

'What-?'

Frank explained that after what happened yesterday, he needed a way to keep in contact with her at all times - and for her to reach him if she ever needed anything. It still didn't work especially well, and the only number stored on it was the one to that antique sitting in the foyer, but she supposed it was better than nothing.

'I realised that perhaps keeping you hidden away from _everything_ is what's causing you to act out.' There it was again. A sly insult masked as a heartfelt apology. 'So, if you want to go out when it's sunny, you can. If you want to take the dogs on a walk, or go somewhere nice with Columbia, you can. As long as you keep this about your person at all times. Yes?'

She nodded.

Now, this strange turn of behaviour had not one thing to do with keeping her safe from a repeat of last night. A few days ago, Frank had decided that in order to get as reliable and well-tested results as possible, he'd have to start sending her out more. Until now, the surroundings have been the same, the air has been the same, the temperature has been the same. Testing the effect of these illnesses in a variety of different environments was the best way to go from now on. It would show initiative more than anything, and everyone knew Frank wanted, more than anything, to look good in front of his few superiors.

The second was a music box.

Velvet again, purple this time. The same colour as her outfit the first time she attended an affair, she remembered. She gently pushed the lid as far back as it would go on its dainty silver hinges. A small, intricate mirror sat snugly on the underside of the lid, facing her directly as she opened it. The tint dancer stood, poised, strong and elegant, atop a miniature black pedestal, and - upon allowing Frank to guide her hand to the small crank and twist it - the figure began to turn.

With a sickening jolt, she realised the pretty tune that came twinkling out of the fine piece of craftsmanship was her own calming lullaby. She still didn't know why her first reaction to that melody was always fear, but it never differed. It was rather hypnotic to sit quietly and watch the clockwork ticking - it seemed to affect Frank too, for he wrapped her from behind in a warm hug and nuzzled into the crook of her neck, as he often did when he started to get tired.

He pressed a few soothing kisses to her skin, purring, 'The dancer on top reminded me of you.'

The crafted doll did look a lot like her, however Sprite would not have noticed it had this gone unsaid. She was petite and dainty, painted a milky white colour, identical to her own. Spending point one seconds in the sun and getting badly burnt - just like her. She was clad in a flowing piece of virginal white (now _that_ was a fucking laugh) and her hair, scraped back into a feminine bun, would've been exactly the same colour. Had it not, she noticed as it caught the light from different angles, possessed a slight silvery tinge that made the whole head of thick hair seem like white fire.

Feeling his sticky red mouth against her ear again, he murmured, 'Do you want to go and try on that piece now?'

Yes. Yes she did indeed. In fact, right now, she couldn't thing of anything better. She disappeared into the bathroom, changed, came out, let Frank gush and purr and almost faint over her, wore those lacy mouse ears with goddam _pride_ , and eagerly followed him when he told her they'd be going somewhere else.

Frank led her along by the hand, trotting dreamily behind him, with not a peep of complaint. He'd been waiting for the nerves, the shyness, the endearing pink cheeks. But now, she seemed happy to do just about anything her Frankie asked of her.

And it wasn't until, setting the box down in the new room and closing the lid, that the little mouse in question realised any of it had happened.

She almost lost her balance, grappling on to the bedpost to stay on her feet. An awful sense of de ja vu mixed with standing up too fast washed over her all at once. For one moment she thought she was going to be sick.

And where exactly were they? Frank had his back to her, rummaging through a tall wardrobe to find something. He hadn't realised she had phased back in - from wherever _out_ was...

Sprite recalled it now like a lucid dream: she knew where she was, what she was doing. She was aware of everything. All five senses in tact. The only difference was that she was extremely willing to do whatever Frank told her to.

She eyed that purple box sitting opposite her. For now, what has happened was fine. It would just be sex, just playing, something that happened every day around here. If he wanted her to dress up, that was fine. Yes, she was hurt that Frank carelessly used it on her, and had no shame in manipulating the girl he claimed to adore. But mostly, Sprite was relieved. Had Frank been in an awful mood, had he gotten hold of it during an episode, she could have hurt others, hurt herself, maybe even admitted something she didn't want to... the list was endless.

She would find a way to get rid of that thing the first chance she got. Preferably by burning it.

Some might find it strange how Sprite didn't question how on Earth that thing worked - what dark magic, what hypnotic techniques - but nothing surprised her anymore. All she concerned herself with now was how to survive it.

Frank turned around with a smug sort of smile - and seeing her sitting there, rather dazed and confused, seemed to snap him out of own dream as well.

His smile became a genuine one. 'Haven't you realised where we are yet?'

She looked around. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. Same chipped paint, same frayed carpet, same unknown smell.

Frank shook his head and chuckled again. 'Here, maybe if I...' he set yet another box down and hoisted her up to a sizeable hole in the low ceiling. 'See anything?'

'No,' she said, squinting and straining to make sense of the weird shapes up there. 'It's dark, and there's loads of stuff blocking the hole and - hang on, how does the ceiling have anything to do with-?'

'Shh!' She shut up immediately. 'Listen. Someone's coming.'

Footsteps. Heeled footsteps. _Creak creak creak_. A door opened above them, and done the the shapes began to move. A touch more light came through the peephole. The rummaging stopped and the person retreated, back the way they came.

They were underneath something, somewhere. Was it another room, or a cupboard, or-.

'Ohhhh,' she realised, 'is _this_ what I could hear? That night when I woke you up because I was scared of that banging sound? And that noise coming from the stairs, was it people in here?'

Frank plonked them both down on the bed and nodded, smirking at her in the way he always did.

'I didn't tell you, firstly because I thought all your ideas were too cute, and because I didn't know whether you'd be able to keep it a secret.' He tapped her on the nose. 'This room is hidden, and only a few know about it because I reserve this space for the more, erm... adventurous people, shall we say.'

Going red again. Oh no.

He pushed her back against the mattress, grinning wickedly and purring, 'You have to be very _special_ to be invited down here...'

That skimpy costume made so much more sense now.

* * *

Frank had been laying awake for some time before he felt Lessie stir.

The sky was a deep black now. The stars were bright and plentiful. Mesmerising. They'd been at it since noon. Frank, with years upon years of extensive, unforgettable, professional experience... even he would not hesitate to say she was now one of his all time favourites. They'd played together before, with increasing frequency, but always mildly so. The beginner's course, if you will. This time, they used belts, whips, handcuffs, gags, blindfolds. All the fun stuff - and more. A lot more.

The coincidence of finding out it was her birthday along with the need to strengthen her ties to him and him alone could not have been more perfect. She was hopelessly devoted to him before, but now... He chuckled. Now she'd see God before she'd leave his side.

Finding out his little mouse was a million times better than he'd ever expected was simply an added bonus.

His hungry eyes didn't stray from her exposed form once. He watched her stretch, whimper, shuffle closer to him and nuzzle into his chest. Her eyes fluttered open. She greeted him with a soft sleepy smile. She had fallen asleep with the ears on, and one of them had now bent, making her look even more innocent and silly in all of this.

Frank found his little mouse sweet, cute and endearing. A little annoying at times. Too clingy and wouldn't always do as she was told. She was his own little pet, in every sense of the word. He couldn't remember what life was like without her, she was amazing to have around when he wanted her. She was easy to replace, but he would miss her for a while after she'd gone. He could get another one that looked like her, or had the same personality, but it wouldn't be quite the same. A pet. And, if he had to go even deeper into it, he supposed he loved her like one too.

She was fully awake now, and staring up at him with those big blue doe eyes of hers.

'Hello, darling.' He smiled, stroking her flawless white cheek with his fingertips. 'How are you feeling?'

'Mmm.' Her grin bested resemblance to that of a drinkers. 'Good.'

'Hurting?'

She shook her head.

'I hope I didn't... overwhelm you.' He was whispering now.

She shook her head no again, that stupid grin plastered to her face. 'No, it was fun. Even thought it conked me out for, like, ages.' She snorted a laugh. 'But it was fun.'

He patted the top of her head. 'Good. I'm glad.' He paused and let out a small sigh. 'Now tell me what you're thinking about.'

She frowned at the ceiling. 'I'm not thinking about anything.'

'Well I know you're fretting about something.' He gently removed the mouse ears (an absolute _treat_ in practice, he was _so_ glad he made Columbia purchase them) from her hair and placed them on the stand. 'Come on, my flower, what is it?'

Her frown deepened, pouting slightly. 'Maybe there is something...' she rested an arm and a leg on him - she could never be alone when talking about heavy things. 'This argument between Magenta and Columbia. The tension is awful and it's making me sad to see them almost hating each other.' She closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh. 'I feel guilty for some of it.'

He smothered a sympathetic kiss to her forehead, knowing exactly what she meant. 'Thinking about the lab again?'

'No, there's more to it than that.'

Now it was Frank's turn to frown. He hadn't been expecting that. Had she yet another secret she wasn't telling him?

'Go on, my lamb.'

'I can't tell you...'

'Yes you can. You know you can. I won't be angry as long as you tell me the truth.'

'But you will. You'll hate me.'

'Oh, don't be ridiculous, darling, I could never hate you!' He held her tighter and tried not to let his irritancy show. Why could she never just say something and be done with it? All this cryptic talk, all this nervous tiptoeing! It was driving him insane! 'Just talk to me, my love, you'll feel miles better once you do.'

Her next sigh was more of a scoff. Her sulky expression said, _God, fine!_

'The day you found me going through the cupboards... I was looking for alcohol, I was in pain, I was frustrated, I was mad as hell... and I... and then I...'

Frank waited patently. Whatever it was, it seemed to be worse that he thought. However, she had been like this one previous time, and she was found to have scratched the floor. He never knew what to expect from her, so remained silent and respectful while he waited.

'I was the one who destroyed Columbia's records.'

* * *

 **(I don't have a song! It's late and I needed to post this! One will be added soon!)**

 **Alma stop making every character except the protagonist a villain challenge.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**In ten days, a rather important anniversary will be upon us. It was my goal to have twenty chapters up by then, and here is number eighteen - do you think I can do it?**

 **I adore my readers more than I can possibly say. Here's to you.**

* * *

Frank glared at her. His grip had tightened, and now it was painful. 'What?' He snapped. 'How?'

His first reaction was not to ask 'why'. That must mean he didn't believe her quite yet. Sprite had to be extra convincing if she wanted to keep her unborn sibling a secret. Or the innocent blood on her hands. Or the sex act she'd secretly recorded three years ago, which she put up online and earned enough money to buy a used car. Hugo had an artillery of secrets to pick from, and it was up to him which one he told for every order Sprite didn't obey. She had to put all her acting skills to the test now.

'Half an hour or so before you found me going through that cupboard,' she mumbled. 'I tried everything to resist looking for alcohol, I really did. But nothing could take my mind off of it, and I was angry. I was so angry. It just wasn't fair. Why should I have to suffer everyday when everyone else has their head in the clouds? I thought, if I could make someone feel even a fraction of the negative onslaught that I was feeling, maybe it would make me feel better.' A dry chuckle came out of nowhere. 'All that and it didn't even work.'

Frank was staring down at her, brow furrowed, eyes that awful blinding white colour, when the lids pulled back from fear, or shock, or fury.

'Are you playing?'

She matched his gaze with a pleading one of her own. 'No. I wish I was, but no. I'm serious. It was me. I crept in while Magenta was asleep, I took them into the bathroom and dumped the whole lot into the tub. It was a vile thing to do and I regret it more than anything, but you _have_ to stop blaming Magenta.' Sprite swallowed and something clicked in her throat. 'Spoil her, wait on her hand and foot, do something about that eye. Make it up to her, please. She didn't do anything wrong.'

Frank remained still. Maintained the intense eye contact. Didn't loosen his grip.

He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. The plausibility of it was there - he had only come out of the lab and monitored her on the cameras _after_ she'd started looking for a drink. There were hours beforehand where she could have destroyed the discs. She had been known (courtesy, along with many other 'private' things, of her diary, which Frank successfully smuggled back into the house) to go batshit crazy when she suppressed anger for so long. She would bottle things up and refuse to talk to anyone until she exploded. Frank recalled her first day, when she tried to attack him. It didn't last for very long, and certainly wasn't as bad as some of the entries suggested it could have been, but that inconsolable streak was there. Frank looked back on that encounter with tender fondness. Her valiant attempts to overpower him (both then and all the other times) were just too cute.

However, the confession was lacking in basic common sense. If she did fly off the handle, the actions were always impulsive and random. Her mind wouldn't be clear enough to factor when everyone was sleeping or to take them into a disused bathroom. She would have just torn them up there and then, without caring who saw. And it was _Columbia_ they were talking about. They adored each other, they all did. All three girls loved each other like family now - and Frank was a bigger advocate for that relationship than anyone. All those nights in front of the monitor on the shared room, enjoying what they got up to when they forgot (or didn't care) he'd be watching...

It didn't add up. His little mouse would be clingy and tearful if she did have something to be guilty about. She wouldn't look at him, nor would she be able to annunciate this well.

Unless, she was just saying random things so Frank would tie her to the bed again? Was this some kind of guilt-fuelled role-play that (because it was so rare for her to initiate anything, let alone come out with it unprompted) he had only just caught on to?

Might as well go with that. Why wouldn't he want to avoid whatever responsibility he might have to this situation and satisfy his urges at the same time? Two birds with one stone.

She preached the moral high-ground for about point one seconds ('No I'm not playing I swear I'm being serious!') and then it was a glorious action replay of the past twelves hours all over again.

It was beautifully sunny when they woke up the second time. Lessie has turned away from him in the night - she would rather spoon Toothless than him. He snaked an arm around her middle, breathing in the scent of her hair. Frank supposed it wasn't quite the same as before with the extensions in. Perhaps he would let her take them out. She inhaled and moaned as she began to wake, every muscle going taut as she had a really good stretch. She turned clumsily, yawning, and tossed her arms around his neck.

'It's ten in the morning,' Frank murmured, lids still heavy with sleep. He petted her hair, commenting, 'We've been in here almost a whole day.'

'Mm.' She grinned. 'Almost.'

'I should be working.'

She made a high-pitched noise of protest and held on to him tighter. He chuckled down at her, even though her eyes were closed.

'You don't want me to leave?'

'No.'

'Why?'

'Because I love you.'

Frank hadn't been expecting to hear that. Sprite, if asked, would say she hadn't been expecting to say that either.

Regardless, Frank beamed. He lit up. He positively glowed, from the inside out. It was proof. It was working. Despite blending the line between passion and lunacy, his half-mad plan was actually working. His heart swelled with pride. He'd be lying if he denied her happiness wasn't of moderate importance to him now, so having that affirmed put him even higher on cloud nine.

This warm, fuzzy and (for want of a better term) _alien_ feeling reminded him just how much he had come to adore his own little mouse. She was a sweet child, really. As innocent as one could be to get themselves into this situation. He did have an insatiable need to protect her, and not all of her mistakes were her fault. She just needed to learn. And, on a sour note, reminded him of how much it would crush him when she had to leave.

She was sober, alert, competent. And, even then, she'd been the one to say it.

It was the first time.

He smirked at her. She flushed the colour of Columbia's hair. Grinning like an idiot. No longer would she look at him. If there was a way, she would have ripped a hole in the bed and crawled into it.

Either she'd forgotten what she confessed to or she'd decided to stop being silly. Frank would waste no more time in finding out.

He chucked her under the chin, intense fondness in his striking eyes.

'Did you do it?'

'Yes.'

He sighed, kissed her deeply on the mouth, and left the room.

* * *

Frank would talk to Hugo. He's put some sense to all of this. He was found sound asleep, mouth wide open, snoring like a warthog. If only Hugo had not been such an ugly sleeper, maybe something would have happened between them after all.

Cujo, Frank noticed, was sitting opposite the alien on the sofa, looking rather scared as he didn't know where that god-awful noise was coming from. The god came plodding over once he saw Frank, and nuzzled his great head into his stomach. The _amount_ of time Frank had been knocked over because of him. He patted him on the head and gently tried to move him out of the way. Frank was strong enough to pick the dog up with both hands if he wanted to, but that dog could be stubborn as anything when he felt like it. He wasn't sure where the others were. He hadn't seen much of the dogs at all lately.

Frank chose a pretty cushion and tossed it at Hugo's head. He snorted once, ambushed, then shot upright, a gangly tangle of arms and legs. He sent a stale glass of water flying and almost kicked poor Cujo in the face.

Quiff every direction expect upright, he saw Frank laughing at him.

'Frank,' he said, 'what the fuck?'

He collapsed into the small space beside him and shoved him to move up. Hugo asked, 'Where have you been all day?'

'Not important,' Frank replied. 'I came to ask you something.' He looked and saw the expectant gaze in return. 'Lessie's adamant she was the one who stole Columbia's music, and later destroyed it.'

He blinked. 'And she's only just told you now? Why didn't she say anything in the beginning?''

'You're not surprised that she did it?'

'No, yes I am,' Hugo added hastily. He hoped it wasn't too obvious. 'But I don't understands why she waited this long to say something. She saw poor Magenta's state, we all did. I never thought she'd let it go any further than that.'

Frank sighed. 'I don't know whether to believe her or not. Did you see anything?'

Hugo turned red. He bowed his head and shifted uncomfortably. He swallowed and something clicked in his throat.

'What?' Yet another unexpected aspect to confused Frank. In short, Hugo had guilt written all over his face. 'Hugo...' he warned. 'What's the matter?'

Hugo slumped, defeated, groaned into his hands that covered his burning face. 'I didn't want her to get into trouble.'

'What does that mean?'

Another sigh. More shifting. 'After you showed me how to delete the evidence of the affair. I was in your room - I know I shouldn't have been - and I saw her on the monitor. And because I didn't wanted her to be on any trouble, I deleted the footage. She's telling the truth, Frank. Poor Magenta didn't do anything wrong either. It's my fault as much as it is hers.'

Instead of feeling angry, or betrayed, Frank felt swamped by an overwhelming sense of sadness. He desperately believed she couldn't have done it, that she wasn't as vicious and spiteful as those acts suggested. It wasn't a huge deal, granted, but now he knew his little mouse was capable of a lot more badness than was previously thought.

Frank patted Hugo's hand and said, 'I understand. You didn't want to see her upset. You wanted to protect her. She means a lot to you, doesn't she?'

He nodded. 'Her innocence and purity meant to much to me. I don't see a lot of that. I don't suppose any of us do, right?'

Both friends had been thinking the expect same thing. It was such a trivial thing, they both understood that, but the thought of their sweet girl having the capability and the _desire_ to really hurt someone, was too much to bear.

Frank was unsure of what to do now. It was a bit late to do anything, really. The moment has passed, Columbia, while upset, was more or less over it. He could make her buy all the records back, but it would all come out of his own money as no one had access to any of theirs anymore. He could stop her from leaving the house for a few days or a month or two, but what good would that do now he needed the conditions to change? He supposed, if he really had to, he could do to her what he did to Magenta, but he vowed never to touch her eyes in case he did end up using them at a later date.

He could stop putting the morphine in her tea. That was enough to drive even the strongest of men into insanity. He'd seen the effects with Riff Raff numerous times. Frank knew all about the man's age-old coping mechanism, and while it technically wasn't allowed, he found he didn't care. It was sinfully entertaining to hide it, to put in different products, to swap the morphine with something else (sometimes even he didn't know what the substitute drug was, never mind the effects) and watch from the sidelines, filled with internalised glee at the development of the slow and painful deterioration.

The little mouse didn't even know she was addicted. The withdrawal would come unexpected and fast - and she wouldn't even know what was happening. The confusion, he found, along with the fear and the pain, always made for the best spectacles.

'Ah well,' Frank sighed. 'I suppose I'll be the one to have to tell Columbia.'

* * *

Sprite's rebellion didn't stop there. No, throughout the near future, she went completely out of control. Off the rails. Untameable. Whatever phrase people want to use nowadays. And that his Frank like a ton of bricks.

He felt a mild level of responsibility for her recent one eighty. She'd gone as far as to be arrested and still had Frank falling at her feet. Now, he suspected, she'd obtained the mentality that she could do just about anything. If Frank caught her smoking, he'd buy her a lighter. If Frank caught her vandalising, he'd throw a few extra bricks. If Frank caught her fighting, he'd supply a good kick in the ribs. All of this combined with the almost guaranteed fear of anything as scary as that arrest happening again, prompted a 'get them before they get me' attitude - and Frank didn't know what to do.

With himself. With her. With everyone else. With his work. Everything was going downhill - and it was all because of her.

He remembered the first instance clearly. Not two days after making her confess to Columbia (they hadn't even looked at one another since), Frank had been working on a diagram in the library when Kaiser walked in.

He'd heard the little pap-pap-pap of his paws on the wooden floor before the dog appeared, and was kneeling on the floor waiting for him when he arrived.

'Hi Kaiser!' Frank cooed as the dog came trotting up to him. 'Hey handsome, how are you?' He rubbed and attacked his pet, welcoming the cute snuggles and licks on his face, when he began to notice something.

Kaiser always had been the toughest of the five dogs. Persephone, his only girl, was gentle and calm, she much preferred a cuddle over a game of tug of war. Cujo, his unofficial favourite, was too big and stupid to acknowledge anything other than attention and food. One could throw a ball for him and he'd plod after it five minutes later. Razor was very energetic and loved being outside; anything less than a two hour walk left him unimpressed. He was scared of everything, however, and once lost a fight to a Shitzu. And Earnie was a stupid, puny little thing with an equally stupid name that didn't even belong to him. Kaiser, to conclude, loved a good roughhouse more than anything. He'd growl and bark like the vicious police dog he once was, but he often sneezed during play fight so they'd know he wasn't really trying to hurt them.

That day, however, something was different.

The dog was whining and crying whilst they played, halfheartedly at best, and when Frank offered his favourite toy he merely stared at it.

'What's wrong, boy?' Frank stretched him under the chin. 'Aren't you feeling very well?'

What the fuck. There was blood all of the floor.

'Oh Kaiser, have you hurt your paw?' Frank jumped when he looked down, noticing it for the first time. His front left paw was surrounded by a growing pool of blood, left in drying paw prints behind him. The dog held this injured paw up, which explained the whining and refusal to play.

'Hold up now, let me see. Good boy...' Frank held the paw gently, raising it to just above his eye level - and saw a huge shard of glass sticking out of the pad.

'Oh _baby!_ ' Frank simpered, almost crying himself. 'How on earth did you do that?' He called for Magenta and asked her to remove the glass while he went to see where the damage was. He didn't want any other dogs hurting their paws and certainly not for any people to cut themselves on it. The shard glowed a faint green in the light, which meant it was probably from the fourth floor, where most of the ornamental vases, statuettes and paperweights were kept.

In fact, he was almost sure he could hear smashing sounds growing louder as he ascended the stairs...

Someone was up there, smashing ornaments? On purpose? Was somebody in the middle of falling over and grabbing on to a shelf for balance? Was there a burglar in their midst? What the fuck was happening?

The reality, as it happened, was none of those things. It was Lessie, standing in the middle of beautiful murder weapons, pieces of multicoloured glass sticking out of her flesh and sending trickles of deep red blood down her creamy white legs, taking yet more glass pieces and throwing them to the ground or across the room in a fit of utter madness.

'Get back!' He had shouted, lunging forwards to grab her and pull her away from the deadly pieces without getting sliced himself. 'Watch out, that's glass! What the fuck are you doing? What have you done to yourself?'

She had burst into tears and stormed away (well, limped technically, what with the shattered vases rammed through her skin). Riff Raff has appeared out of nowhere and guided her away, and nothing more was ever said on the subject.

Frank pressed his fingertips against the desk. Still not quite healed.

Smaller, more trivial things happened between the next big one, and then something else happened. Something with her hair.

Sprite will tell you about this one. It had spoiled a rather lovely day, to be frank. With her newfound freedom she had piled all the dogs into van and driven down the nearest beach. She never though she'd see the sea again, or feel the warm sand upon her back or slurp up and ice cream in two mouthfuls before it could melt. As of that day, her favourite thing in the whole world was to hurl a ball into the cool blue water (glittering and shimmering with colours of the rainbow through her happy tears) and watch the dogs sprint fall and clamour for it.

She had arrived back in the early evening. Exhausted in the best way, rather itchy now that she thought about it, and ready for a hot shower and a very deep sleep.

Someone jumped out at her on the way to the bathroom.

She sensed a presence a second too late, then two hands seized the ends of her hair and hauled her backwards. She screamed, first out of fear and then out of pain, wrestling away didn't help in any way, and when she got stuck against the corner of the wall the person didn't stop. They pulled harder and harder and harder until her eyes streamed, her throat locked and her extensions began to tear out. As soon as the first sickening _rrrrrip_ was heard, the hands disappeared and she ran clumsily into the bathroom.

Her own agonised footfalls masked Hugo's, who was sprinting to delete his attack before anyone saw.

Heaving and sobbing now, she clutched onto the sink in a white-knuckle grip and surveyed her trembling reflection in the mirror.

It felt like being scalped and it looked so too, the pull having been so strong it drew blood from her head and sent it tricking down her forehead. A stinging drop fell into her eye and she wiped it away roughly.

She had to get them out. Oh God it just hurt so much. Like fire. Her scalp was on fire. Oh please let me get them out.

She grabbed the nearest pair of scissors and began hacking. Haphazard, shaking, sweating, crying and crying and crying. She cut her ear, she caught the side of her neck, she attacked her head with those scissors. And when that didn't work, she used her own hands.

Clawing at her head, in an utter delirium at this point, she remembered something about glue. Glue and oil and how it takes time and conditioner and towels and it needs time to seep in and it takes at least a few sessions and all of this she cares nothing for because the pain was consuming her and she had to get them out.

Frank walked in at that precise moment then. She would call it interrupting a Britney Spears breakdown and he wouldn't have a clue what she was talking about.

It wasn't funny, nor was it ironic. He almost died in the doorway, yelling ' _What are you-?!_ ' And she bayed 'They won't come out! I've been in here for ages and it really hurts and they _won't fucking come out!_ '

'Alright, alright...' Frank was softer with her then, understanding she was extremely distressed and she needed help rather than interrogation. He entered the room slowly, putting his arms around her and trying to figure out where to touch her without making the pain worse. He simpered and crooned and his touch was very gentle, but he eventually had her swallow something that made her very sleepy and she didn't remember the rest.

Frank was unaware of his tears. He preferred her short hair anyway - it defined the curls more and that heavenly smell was more concentrated - but seeing her in such a state, and not being able to do a thing about it... he wouldn't wish that feeling on his worst enemy.

Why? She never told him and he never asked. He was sick to death of her issues, and was glad to be spared at least one.

He supposed the lack of morphine had driven her insane.

A period of rest followed when she became gravely ill. Again. Blood in her waste, blood in her vomit, blood everywhere. She didn't leave her bed for days and the additional complications got so bad that Frank resorted to gathering the others around and compassionately offering them the chance to say goodbye. He thought he'd be able to stop it. He turned out to be wrong. It had broken him to break them, and Frank had gone to bed that night in a whirlwind of idiot despair.

Frank assumed his own genius merely had a delayed reaction. No one saw Riff Raff going in there and doing what he had to do.

However, he'd gladly relive that day one hundred times to undo the one where she ran away.

She had pulled that little stunt three or four times in total, but it was always the first one that stayed as fresh as yesterday.

Frank recalled it now, at his desk, in the blackest of nights in the thunderstorm.

Everyone was up and about early that day, for Frank had a lot of work to be done, and if Frank was busy, everyone was busy. Who would cook and clean for him, entertain him as and when he wanted, be there at his every beck and call, if everyone was asleep?

He knocked one on Lessie's door ('Morning sunshine!') and walked briskly on by. Ten minutes later he went up again, having seen no sign of her. He knocked once more, louder, and called 'Last warning, little one. Five minutes and I'm coming in with cold water.' The third time he loudly let himself in, scolding, 'Okay, this is ridiculous. Up, now.' Only to stand there in a kind of vague confusion because she wasn't in there. Her bed had been slept in - there was no mistaking when that wriggling nuisance had slept in your bed - but the room was empty.

'Magenta?' He queried, 'you haven't seen Lessie, have you?'

He remembered as soon as he said it. They weren't talking to each other. None of them were. Columbia was gradually apologising to Magenta, but now wasn't talking to Celeste, and neither was Magenta once she found out she sustained an impressive shiner for no reason. See? Even the most mundane things became more difficult because of that spoilt brat.

'No I haven't,' came the curt reply. Even if she had she wouldn't say.

He went to all the usual places first. Library, garden, kitchen, playroom. Nothing. He checked the cameras last, and always as a last resort, because he never wanted to accidentally see some misconduct and he forced to have to deal with it.

'Frank?' Hugo's head popped around the door. 'The front door's been left open.'

'Oh fuck she's not here,' Frank sighed as he pushed Hugo away and ran down the stairs. The door was not _wide_ open. Just enough to fool sillier people into thinking the door had not been closed properly.

'Not now. Please not now.' Frank groaned, head in his hands. 'Not _today!_ ' He kicked the wall in frustration. Hugo jumped. He'd anticipated fear, not anger. Frank began venting as he strode about the room in a royal strop. 'Why does _everything_ have to revolve around her? The _one_ time in _six months_ I give my attention to something else and she fucks off? Because Celeste isn't getting what Celeste wants? Remind me _never_ to take a street rat in again,' Frank exchanged a quick glance with Hugo, 'because I am not about to have my life's work _ruined_ by some over-privileged under-parented trust fund brat-!'

Hugo put a hand on Frank's shoulder. He burned out on the spot. 'I'll send Riff Raff to look for her.' Hugo spoke in a delicate, quiet voice. One that held all the elements of _okaaaaaaayyyy_ without the nervous tone and slight eye roll.

Frank clasped his friend's hand. 'I'm not angry,' he said. 'I'm _scared_. I never thought I'd be afraid to lose someone and now I don't quite know what to do.'

The man reassured his friend that everything would be fine and sent their companion out searching, and the whole day passed. The closer it got to dark hours the more agitated Frank became, and as soon as he didn't have the complexity of his work to distract him, he slumped into a sobbing mess. He stayed up all night, watching with a growing idiot terror at how dark this night was - and how scared she would be.

What if she didn't come back? Her bones were scheduled to soften any day now, what if she collapsed in the middle of the woods? He needed her, he needed her results, what would he do if he lost his only subject? All that work, that time, for nothing?

Why did she choose to run? Had he done something wrong? Not given her enough? Smothered her? He couldn't think of any plausible reason. Any other person her age - or any age for that matter - would literally die for the position she held now. Maybe it wasn't him at all. Maybe her expectations were just too high.

 _Stop trying to play the tycoon, Frank,_ a tiny little voice somewhere back there said, _we all know you couldn't go on if you lost her. Not her body or her cells or her organs. Her. Never holding her again. Never singing her to sleep again. Never bruising that perfect mouth with your own rough kisses, never hearing her cry and beg and moan for you, never feeling that rush of ecstatic agony after playing together... it would finish you and you damn well know it. Planting independence in her head was a stupid idea. If you don't teach her her place, how will she ever learn? Let her roam too far and you'll lose her forever. Just like you did with-._

'Oh, my God.'

She waltzed in as if nothing was wrong. Beautifully poised and elegant on Riff Raff's arm, she even had the audacity to yawn as she strolled through the foyer. Frank tried to go to her but was pushed away when he got to within touching distance. She'd never rejected his touch, ever. His little mouse sort of craved it. To have her shivering and pulling away from the contact? Something much worse was afoot here.

Frank was so baffled he could barely get the words out. A rather desperate, 'What are you doing?' would have to suffice for now. Riff Raff carried on through wordlessly so they could sort it out between themselves. 'What is going on with you? How _dare_ you scare us all like that?' He wanted to shake her. 'Can you stop standing there blankly and staring into space please?!'

'You're making a big fuss over nothing,' she murmured. 'I went out. A walk, that's all.'

'For the whole fucking day? Without telling anyone you were going? Flower, we were all worried sick we thought something had happened to you!'

'It was rather pleasant until Riff Raff showed up. Said I had to go back with him before you blew the roof off.'

'It was lucky he even found you!'

So neither of them new about the microchip in her ankle then. Riff had done well to keep that a secret.

'But you said I was allowed to leave if I wanted to,' she said, still in that infuriating bored teenager voice. 'I had my phone so I really don't see the problem.'

'Oh, fuck off then, Celeste,' he sighed. 'Go on, get out of my sight. The roof over your head, food on the table and friends who care about you obviously isn't up to your expectations. And that, my dear, is my fault.'

She ignored him and sauntered to her room. He heard the tail end of a conversation between her and... was that Hugo's voice? Probably giving her the damn good thrashing Frank had been too soft to deliver.

* * *

'Frankie?'

He jumped. Oh shit, that was her now. Back in the present, alone in the dark, the wind and rain howling something fierce outside the walls. 'There's someone at the door.' She took a few tentative steps closer. 'Says their car broke down. Asking to use the phone. Did you not hear the bell?'

 _How the fuck had they gotten in? Was the concealment broken after all?_

'No, he mused, 'no I suppose I didn't.'

'I let them in,' she admitted. 'They're sitting in the foyer. Two guys. I hope that's okay but they were drenched and had nowhere else to go-.'

'That's alright, darling, just leave the rest to me now. Tell me what they're like.'

'They're young. My age, just about. They look exactly the same. I've forgotten how boring everyone is.' She chuckled. 'Short brown hair, green eyes, both wearing grey hoodies and tracksuits, and only one of them had a working phone but I-' she reached into her back pocket '- kind of stole it from them.'

Frank burst out laughing and clapped her on the shoulders.

'Did you say anything more?'

She shook her head.

'Good girl.' He planted a resounding kiss on her forehead. 'Go on now, I'll handle the rest. You can watch from my room if you want.'

She trotted away and Frank, grinning to himself, made his way down the stairs.

'Right! he announced as soon as two chestnut brown scalps were in sight, 'let's see what the cat dragged in then.'

The two men (well, boys really) turned at the sound of his voice and just about shit themselves. They both stood up immediately, fear burning in their eyes. They both began to speak at once in typical jock dialect, tripping and stumbling over one another as the reversed towards the door.

He didn't recognise either of them. The fucking thing _was_ broken. What a ball ache.

Frank frowned, feigning utter confusion at their hilarious reaction. He asked, 'Do you want help or not? I've just been told you're in need of some assistance.'

'Well, yeah,' the braver one of the two said, 'but we really just needed somewhere out of the rain to use our-.' The boy stopped, clearly feeling around for something. Frank cocked an eyebrow, but exchanged a lightening quick glance with Magenta, who had snuck to the top of the stairs and was siting there, smirking.

The boy seethed. 'You took my phone!'

Frank batted his long eyelashes, eyes wide and the epitome of innocence. 'Who, me? I did no such thing!' He felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 'And if you're so brash as to accuse me I suggest you turn around now and go-.'

'That's the girl who brought us in!' The one of the left said.

'Frank, stop teasing the poor souls and let them in.' Lessie gave a winning smile. Lessie who was _supposed_ to be in her room... He gave her a reproachful look which conveyed all that, but she merely smiled wider, stunning eyes twinkling mischievously. Guiding each boy by the small of his back, she continued, 'You're more than welcome to use the phones here, however I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the morning as the storm has fucked our lines over...' she continued to chatter away until Frank could no longer hear her.

She could be a good little girl when she tried really hard. Why couldn't she be like that all the time?'

* * *

The next day was an eventful one. The boys, named Kian (shorter) and Max (taller) were show to there separate rooms, Sprite slept in Frank's bed that night after a long period of absence (but was unsurprised when she woke up and found him gone), Magenta and Columbia made an even bigger effort to avoid the poor mouse, and Hugo took an intense liking to the two temporary editions.

Everyone expected Sprite to be devastated at the loss of her friend, but really she was breathing a sigh of relief. Finally, something to keep Hugo away from her. Maybe now she'd muster the courage to tell someone. This couldn't go on fit much longer, it was getting out of hand.

Since their stolen night together, Sprite had owned up to: tearing up a whole handwritten section on skin pigmentation that was really important and she'd worked really hard on it, shattering valuable ornaments, hitting and kicking the dogs, putting glue in Magenta's shampoo, stealing Riff Raff's few possessions, chucking Columbia's clothes in the pool, even as far as tampering with the truck so what little freedom they had was stripped away completely. I mean, come on. Her? Under a car? Sweaty, greasy, covered with oil and intricate equipment? And no one batted and eyelid and instead chose to slap her around?

The thing that got to her the most was how everyone believed it. No one thought to ask, or even consider: gee, this isn't like our little mouse, perhaps there's something going on? Everyone seemed to assume she'd always been capable of it and did nothing but serve the punishment to fit the crime. Although, even that was probably her fault, as well. She had pushed her friends away from her. Her own cowardice contributed to her impending demise.

Sprite sloped into the kitchen, tears pricking at her eyes. She had to sit down to this awkward breakfast that no one wanted a part in, and now she had to be feeling like shit as well?

She spied Frank across the room and sidled up to him.

'Both?'

'One.'

'Damn. What stopped the other?'

'Sound asleep, snoring like a warthog and almost drowning in his own drool. I'm not being rude, Lessie, but it was so ugly I didn't even take the chance. Oh and,' he took her by the shoulders and steered her away slightly. 'He's in denial, as they often are, so don't mention anything, alright? No one else knows - not even that friend of his. You know how rude it is when someone else makes the announcement.' She nodded and he smiled. She hadn't seen a genuine one of those in a while. 'Do you still have that boy's phone?'

'Upstairs. I could get it if you want?'

'Yes please, darling.' He kissed the tip of her nose and sent her away. She ran into the other, less desirable man on the way down.'

'Get them out,' demanded Hugo.

'What?'

'I can't stand them,' he said. 'Get then out. Both of them. I don't care how.' She huffed, flouncing off, and he called, 'Today!'

She sat down at the table (furthest away from Columbia, ignoring Magenta's awful motherly sadness from opposite her) and tried to eat.

The conversation was steely and awkward under a thick atmosphere. All coups feel it yet none would speak up. The _screech-clink_ of knives and forks on mismatched china plates was the soundtrack for that morning. Sprite noticed, watching everyone under her eyelashes, that the taller of the two boys was the one obviously unsettled and intimidated by Frank. Was that one Kian or Max? She couldn't remember, but it must have been better than he was prepared to admit.

Sprite became aware of everyone looking at her.

'What?'

The shorter one chuckled nervously. 'I was asking if we could get to a phone today, like you said.' Her eyes flitted to Frank. He nodded once, discreetly. 'I,' she declared, pushing herself away from the table, 'will go and check right now.'

She deliberately took her time performing a task of which she already knew the outcome. She didn't want to be in that room. Not now, not ever. The tension was unbearable. A conversation had stated by the time she came back, which was at least a good start.

'...be such a prude!' That was Magenta. No mistaking that accent.

'I'm _not_ a prude!' Someone sensitive and emotional responded. Sprite assumed that was the taller boy, the one who had had a strange and unexpected visitor in the night, the one who she suspected was about to say... 'I just wouldn't want to be sexually involved with another guy!'

'Have you tried it?'

' _No!_ '

'Then don't shit on what you don't understand!'

'I don't care about anyone else's stupid opinions!' The boy was really angry now, and Sprite thought she heard a plate smashing. 'You wouldn't get me into bed with a man if my life depended on it, I would rather be held down and taken by force than-!'

Some unholy demon popped in for a quick hello right then, for Sprite found herself _flying_ across the room and pouncing on that evil, vile, cock-sucking piece of shit and attacking him for all she was worth.

A commotion erupted behind her but Sprite didn't care. All she wanted was to scratch the animal's eyes out, to kick his balls right but up to where they cane from, rip out his hair until he was bald as a cue ball and fucking _sorry_ for what he said.

People were grabbing at her now, strong hands trying to pull her away, but she held on and held on, until she drew blood until he began screaming until his other friend sprinted out of the room looking for the nearest phone to call the police or some other dumb idea.

He was screaming, ' _Get this fucking crazy bitch off of me!_ ' And she was able to deliver one last punch (she was aiming to break his nose) before she was wrenched away and given an almighty slap of her own. Not phased at all, still kicking and screaming, still trying to get back to him and fuck him up, she was picked up bodily and whisked away upstairs. She didn't stop, not when Frank slapped her kicking legs, not when Frank threatened to lock her in the cellar until she learned, not even when Frank lost all sense of anger and blandly suggested he might just throw her out.

It took a shove into a stone wall, a pair of hands twisted painfully behind her back and an agonising strong hold on the side of her neck - trapping it in an angle necks weren't designed to bend in - to keep her silent.

'Now what,' Frank murmured in a soft tone, dark and filthy with malice and disgust, 'do you think you're doing?

'He said that-!'

'I don't _care_ what he said.' Frank snarled in her ear, pushing her even further into the wall. He chuckled darkly when she whimpered in pain. In agony. Her wrists would break any moment now. The worst part was - she could feel him. Hard as a stone and red, red hot. 'If that _thing_ leaves here with blood all over his face then we are going to get into trouble. We can make them forget we can clean them up but as long as that concealment is broken-.'

'It's _broken_?'

'Shut _up_ , I'm talking.' He slammed the wall beside her head and she squealed again. 'Anyone between now and when it gets fixed can stumble upon our quaint little house, perfectly by accident. If they had gotten away before Riff Raff stepped in and sedated them, what do you think would have happened?'

She spat in his face. Something compelled her - she had no idea what. Or why, for that matter. She hocked up a monster wad and sent it flying. He yelled out loud and shot backwards - realising her, at least. She was careful not to moan in ecstasy as she freed her arms and stretched out her neck. He was _seething_ at her. The shiny red rubbed off, however a bit of the eyebrow has faded. He had a mild sense of idiot shock on his face - _did this bitch just spit on me?_ \- but continued to speak and function calmly.

'Do you want to be kicked out? Is that it? Would you prefer to be left to your own devices, out there in the cold, all alone, without even a mother to care for you? Are you really prepared to take everything I've done and throw it back in my face because you don't get your way all the time?' He scoffed, burning with contempt. 'Well _I'm_ certainly not going to stop you. And, because you are and always will be my favourite, I'll give you one last chance to explain yourself. But I'll tell you something, my little mouse - you walk out room you're gone. For good. Don't expect me to wait for you to come crawling back.'

'It's _Hugo!_ ' She screamed, and once she had there was no stopping her. 'It's him! This whole time it's been him, and you've been too blind to notice anything! Right, I'll explain something, shall I? I slept with him. On the night of my arrest we _fucked_ each other's _brains_ out, and ever since _then_ he had been _blackmailing_ me into taking the blame for thing I didn't even do! _He_ tore up those papers you wanted, _he_ lodged the glass in Kaiser's paw, he almost scalped me! _He destroyed Columbia's records, Frank!_ I didn't do half the shit I've been accused of, and the other half I only did because I was forced to!' The anger absolved abruptly, leaving her exhausted. 'I told him a lot, Frank. On that night we were together. I told him _everything_. Some things even you don't know. And he threatened to tell everyone everything if I didn't do exactly as he said. He does whatever shit he feels like, runs back here to delete the footage as you showed him how and leaves me to take the blame.'

' _If_ that is true,' Frank said, not believing her one bit, 'you know I wouldn't stand for it. Why didn't you just tell me anyway?'

She stressed, 'Because he makes you so happy! We needed a break from you, Frank, and I'm not being rude but that's just how it is. We thought you'd have had at least three episodes by now but Hugo's been there there to keep you calm. I couldn't make everyone else unhappy, Frank. I couldn't.' And, she sighed, 'he also said you weren't to find out that we slept together. That would also result in my so-called 'judgement day'.

Nothing was said.

She walked towards the door. 'Believe what you want, but I'm telling the truth.'

'Wait!' Frank called. 'Don't go.' He sighed again. 'Right. I'm going to stay here and watch from the monitor. You, my sweet darling, are to go to the Labyrinth Wing and have it out with Hugo. I will be watching the whole time, and if I find out you're lying you will have a lot of fun learning how to walk on two broken legs. Clear?'

'Crystal,' she responded, and did just that.

Everything came out. Better than perfectly. Standing there, looking almost bored, allowing Hugo to aggressively outline all his conditions in extensive detail all over again.

'But I don't want to do this anymore. Hugo, I can't!'

He smirked. The evil little shit. 'Well you know what will happen if you do. Although Columbia hates you enough already, I doubt the ruthless murder of her one true love would make a dent now.'

Frank _exploded_ into the room. The door slammed a hole into the wall, and one of the hinges snapped clean off. The picture of black, filthy rage, he stormed towards Hugo, clamping a hand on his shoulder hard enough to bruise the bone and _threw_ him into the wall. Hugo's head made another hole.

'You,' Frank snarled, ' _blackmailing her!_ '

He _rammed_ his knee into Hugo's groin, the poor recipient collapsing with a groan of absolute agony. The violence increased while he was down. Miserable Hugo got kicked in the gut, punched in head, slapped, bitten, clawed, _screamed_ at until he cowered on the floor in terror. Frank may have been feet shorter than Hugo, but the man was a _lot_ stronger. Invincible alien strong.

Compared to what Sprite had done earlier, this was a murder attempt. And the girl did not sit back and let this happen, oh no. She wailed and sobbed for them to stop, getting pushed away by Frank as she tried to get in and separate them. Eventually the horror of what she was witnessing sent her sinking to her knees, where she stayed in a kind of mute disarray and waited until the end.

It was only about thirty seconds between the first kick and the others rushing in, but Sprite had been there a lot longer.

'Frankie no, what the heck?!'

'Further you put that fucking bastard down now!'

Magenta and Columbia took one arm each and hauled Frank away. It was a tall order, but they managed it. Chest heaving, each ragged breath as high-strung as the last, shaking all over with adrenaline. Hugo could barely move. A crumpled bloody pulp in the corner of the room. One eye had gone completely red, blood poured from the middle of his face, great black bruises covered his arms and legs and stomach.

'Draw a bath, Columbia.'

'Say what?'

'Do it _now._ '

No one would argue with Frank in that state.

'Magenta, the phone.'

She choked on fresh air. 'The phone?'

'Yes. At once.' He sent the broken man a look that was somehow worse to see and more painful to experience than any of the brutalities that just happened. 'They've got a live one.'

They went about their business in a slight daze. Sprite felt forgotten about, again, but for the second time it was Riff Raff who came to her, helped her to her feet and guided her quaking body over to the sofa. The man sat with her until Frank approach her again.

He crouched down to see her at eye level. Riff Raff tightened his grip on her shoulder. 'My lamb,' he began as if soothing a wild animal or talking to a very young child, 'we will talk about what just happened. But before that, I need you to be my good brave girl for just a little while longer. Can you do that?' She nodded. She didn't even understand what was happening. 'Strangers will arrive soon. Hugo be taken away and put somewhere where he can't hurt you or anyone else ever again. They might look a little funny but you have to stay nice and calm for me, okay?'

'People... your people are coming here?' The air felt too thick for her mouth. 'Hugo's... are you going to kill him?'

'No, darling.'

'Is he already dead?'

'Don't worry about that, my little mouse. The man will live. He needs to be taken away now.'

'You didn't have to-.'

'I know. I will never forgive myself for allowing you to see that. But afterwards you and I will have a long talk about what to do going forward. I'll send the others away, we'll have a week to ourselves, just me and you. Find out what's going on in here.'

He flicked her temple. And - shocker - she giggled.

'That's my girl.' He smiled and rose to his feet, as multiple footsteps crunched the gravel outside.

Four figures in identical metallic uniforms crossed the threshold. Silver, accented blue, wide shoulders and thick platformed boots. Any other time Sprite would have laughed. But this situation was... she couldn't begin to understand how serious.

Hugo, more dead than alive, was helpless down the stairs by the grave-looking girls. A few words were spoken in that strange alien language, and Hugo was taken, two guards at the front, two at the back.

His head was still clearly visible from the middle of the square, and he turned to look Sprite dead in the eyes.

A thrill ran up her spine.

'I tried to get you out.' His voice was dead. Numb. Broken. 'Let it be known to everyone that I tried to get you out.'

With that, the warm, witty, heterochromic blackmailer was escorted off the premises.

* * *

 **The song lyrics started off as a good idea but I keep failing to find them. They will appear as and then I find some I actually like.**

 **I tried to get this up on Freddie Mercury's birthday, but those of you living in the UK will know I just missed the time! Man. Happy birthday Mr. Fahrenheit, thank you for sharing your passion and inspiring minds across the globe. Hope you're enjoying yourself upstairs.**

 **Non Queen fans will be like what the fuck is she talking about.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**I have four days to write the next one lmao fuck.**

 **This chapter is half as long as they usually are, and so to make up for that I aim to make the next one nice and loooooong. It goes up on an important date so it makes sense.**

 **Thanks once again to my regular reviewers (and some new ones!) for inspiring me endlessly and giving me so much encouragement when I worry the work is not up to standard. I'm not a violent person, okay, I didn't want it to be unrealistic.**

 **LETS GO**

* * *

Sprite opened the bedroom door, expecting it to be Frank on the other side. Instead, she was mobbed by Magenta and Columbia. She struggled away at first, anticipating the same kicks and punches Hugo - 'he who must not be named' - had received moments earlier. In contrast, she found, they were hugging her.

Magenta's mane of reddish brown hair obstructed her vision and ticked her nose, the girl's arms around her waist squeezing the life out of her. She pulled away and planted a huge resounding kiss on her flushed cheek.

'He was doing the same to me,' Magenta revealed without letting go of her. 'I didn't really hate you. I could never. But _he_ threatened to hinder Frank's progress if I didn't do what he said and I couldn't lose the chance of getting home twice. I just couldn't. Which is also why I turned so vile and cruel towards my Columbia.' They beamed at one another. 'I was selfish now, I accept that, and cowardly too. But I thought I was the only one.' She shook her head, sighing. 'If I had had bat idea it was affecting you two as well then I would have-.'

'You two _?_ ' Sprite interrupted. She turned to Columbia. 'You as well?'

'Uh huh,' she nodded her head a little sadly. 'I knew it wasn't you. At least, not on purpose. I wasn't even allowed to talk to you, see. Believe it or not there are a few relations left to me out there and he threatened to hurt them, just like he did with Jen. I thought I'd be able to get around it but it all happened so fast, and just like that I had no one.'

Sprite shook her head, utterly dumbfounded. 'He was trying to isolate us. Cut all three of us off from each other so we'd have no choice but to stand alone. But _why?_ '

A collective shrug seemed to pass through the air.

'I can't get Frank's face out of my head.' It was Magenta who broke the silence. 'His friend, his _best_ friend, one he relied on and trusted and _laughed_ with, for _years_ and then... to suddenly betray him like that? How dare he! He knows more about Frank and his... tendencies more than any of us, and to be _heartless_ enough to _exploit_ him-.'

'See.' Sprtie has a huge grin on her face. 'You do care about him really.'

She playfully punched her arm with a smile of her own. 'Of course I do. We were inseparable for most of our lives. You can't just switch that off.' Her caught sentimental expression dropped into a hard frown. 'If only he didn't make it so difficult!'

There was a knock at the door.

They undid the latch immediately and without protest, that never having happened before. It _was_ Frank this time - Frank, who had aged ten years, over exerted himself and had been through hell and back.

Worst. Day. Ever.

He managed a weak smile - and collapsed in the doorway.

All three tried to catch him at once. Sprite squealed, a gritted ' _fuck me_ ' came from Magenta, and Columbia's heels sliding out from under her and promptly depositing her on the floor served as her contribution. They saved his head from smacking the floor, Columbia managed to grab his corset strings and lower him down a way before she went down, but everything else hit the ground with an almighty crash.

All the girls put together didn't have the strength of Frank's left arm.

Sprite pulled Columbia to her feet, giggling rather hysterically. Now that it was all over the best thing to do was laugh, but being so tired, so traumatised and so relieved all at the same time rendered them all a little bit insane.

A six-foot scientific pansexual alien was passed out cold in the middle of the room, and they hadn't a clue what to do with it.

No way on earth could they lift him. It would be a challenge to even drag him.

Even Magenta had a rather smug smirk on her face now. 'We knew one was coming,' she said matter-of-factly. 'He burnt himself out on Hugo.' Sprite grabbed Columbia's hand and squeezed at the sight of Magenta crying. 'Rather him than us.' She suddenly spanned into her usual self and ordered, 'Columbia can you go and fetch Riff Raff please. I can't let him see me like this.'

'He went outside with the escorts.'

'I'll wait.'

Frank groaned and writhed while she was gone. Sprite tried her very best to comfort him, to offer help in any way. It was however pointless because Frank was not really 'here' during this stage. He could not acknowledge, nor comprehend, nor understand. From his perspective it was like staring up at a brick wall. Magenta held Sprite down when she tried to leave. Frank had started screaming, and she couldn't stand the sight.

'You _cannot_ go out there,' Magenta forbade. 'That was the one coherent thing Frank did manage to tell me before he checked out.'

Riff Raff came in then, announced that Columbia had gone to bed, slung Frank over his shoulder by one arm like a sack of potatoes, and carried him away.

* * *

Magenta heaved a sigh of relief. 'Do you want me to stay?'

'Yes. Don't leave me.'

Sprite's maternal best friend kicked her shoes off then eased off both of her own. She scrubbed off her makeup next, doing the same to Sprite. She accepted this without complaint: she was used to Magenta looking after her now, and she needed it more than ever tonight. The hem of her silken black maid's uniform came over her head followed by crossed white arms, leaving her standing there in nothing but her expensive underwear before she climbed into bed. Obviously Sprite was expected to do the same.

They kept a dim light on at first, choosing to hold each other and talk about nothing until they fell asleep.

Magenta cradled Sprite's head against her shoulder. 'I'm so thankful that you said something. I couldn't have gone on much longer.'

'Was it really happening the whole time?'

'He started on me the second he got here.' They held on to each other a little tighter. 'I tired to tell Frank right away but, of course, he wouldn't listen to me. He actually scolded me. "Don't be so ridiculous, don't you know the extent of Hugo's work in our quadrant?" Hugo used to be very charitable and well respected by his peers, but that won't last long now. I, however, have never liked him.'

Sprite didn't ask why. There are some things you just can't explain. She asked, instead, if her and Frank really were as close as was often suggested. Magenta had to hold back tears again.

'Oh yes. A thousand times yes. There was a time when I... I would have done _anything_ for him.' She shook her head, deep in nostalgic pain. Magenta possessed the unique ability to cry (as hard as she needed) without sounding like she was crying. A skill that Sprite, self-confessed ugly crier extraordinaire, dearly wished she had. 'I loved him _so_ much... those were the days of our lives when everything was just sublime.'

Sprite's words came out soft. 'What changed?'

'Something terrible. Something that's not for you to know. No one does, except Frank and my brother. I'd go back and change everything in a heartbeat. I'd have my soulmate back in a heartbeat. I miss him. And I think he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss me more.' She hugged Sprite tight and kissed the top of her head. 'I want you to learn from this, Sylvie. I don't want you to end up like me.'

'But Magenta you're-!'

'Ah, no buts. Let me finish.' She took both of Sprite's hands and clasped them between her own. 'Don't ever assume you can handle everything on your own. If something doesn't feel right, or becomes a little overwhelming, stop and _tell someone_. Understand? Good. Own up to the mistakes you make. The courage and wisdom to admit you were wrong is far better than deceiving everyone until you get found out. Because, if you lie, you _will_ get found out.' Sprite's mind travelled back to the lab. To whatever Columbia assumed happened to her love. She shivered. 'And lastly,' she tapped her on the nose, reminding her far too much of Frank, 'don't ever let a man tell you what to do. It's twenty-eighteen. You can do whatever the fuck you want.'

Sprite nodded, studying Magenta's unusual face carefully. Magenta didn't look very old at all. How could she have such wisdom - derived from such awful experiences?'

'Magenta, how old are you?'

'Well, in Earth years it would be-.'

She exploded into hysteria. ' _What?_ ' She shrieked, 'you mean you age differently as well? What are you, like, a hundred and four?' She laughed. 'Oh my God, I believed you were aliens but I didn't think you were... _that_ alien.'

Her friend was busy muttering to herself and counting on her fingers. 'Twenty-eight,' she concluded. 'Frank would be... twenty-six? And Riff wouldn't want me telling you how old he is,' she chuckled.

'You don't _look_ twenty-eight.'

'That's because I'm not.' She chuckled again.

'How old are you really? Like how long have you been alive?'

She slipped a hand through her hair. 'That's for me to know and you for to find out.' She pressed a quick kiss to Sprite's temple. 'Now go to sleep.'

 _Oh, what? You can't just expect me to switch off after all that!_

Luckily, she didn't have to, As at that moment, Riff Raff walked in.

Had no one in this place heard of knocking?

'He's awake.'

Magenta started. 'Already?'

'Yes. He's responsive but he's weak, and his talking is not very good.' He looked right at Sprite, and she automatically jumped. 'He's asking for you.'

Magenta forbade it, holding her until it was almost painful. Riff Raff, calm with a hint of exasperation, explained that Frank was too weak to even sit up unassisted, let alone pounce on the girl and strangle her to death. He did, however, suggest she put some clothes on.

* * *

It reminded her of a crypt. Curtains drawn. Incense burning from a small pot in the corner. A multitude of flickering yellow candles scattered around the room in small groups, others contained in gothic candelabras along the frowning stone walls. And in the middle of this stern tapestry lay a long, white figure, barely contained within the narrow single bed it rested on. Elegant long-fingered hands laid on opposing shoulders, with it's eyes closed somewhere between sleep and death.

It was Frank. And he was snoring.

Like the night of the strange noises except one hundred times louder, Sprite didn't know whether to stifle her giggles or burst into tears. What had _happened_ to him, making him act that way, and to leave him in a state like this? Such an extreme, animalistic level of savagery... she'd never seen anything like it. If she, however unintentionally, got on the wrong side of him one day, what was there to stop something like that happening to her? She'd seen Hugo walking out, they all had. He was practically inside out. And that dreadful parting shot he'd given her - that erupted her skin in goosebumps and weakened her bladder somewhat. "I tried to get you out". Now, whatever could that mean?

Unimportant. The man had just been beaten to within an inch of his life. Anything could have come out of his mouth without making a hint of sense. With half of his perfect white teeth missing, it was a miracle he was able to talk at all.

Anyway, back to the K.O'd alien in front of her. He was even weaker than Sprite thought, if he couldn't stay awake between the time Riff Raff informed them of his state and the two seconds it took to get dressed again. Perhaps that was a good thing though, now she could escape without having to do anything, with the excuse he'd been sleeping and she didn't want to disturb him-.

Ah crap. Too late.

Frank began convulsing, with a suddenness and violence that was almost too hard to watch. Sprite's own yip of terror became swamped by Frank's feral howling and wailing, fighting off something (or someone) that wasn't there - and inhumanely terrifying himself into a stupor.

His body contorted backwards into a horrific C shape. He began to bawl and cough and urge during the hysteria. He collapsed hard to his knees on the stone floor, hard enough to split the flesh and bruise the skin - she heard the awful crack. His eyes rolled all the way to the back of his head, the too-bright whites wet and bloodshot. The uncontrollable exertion caused hot blood to spew from his grotesquely wide, cracked mouth.

However it was none of those things that kickstarted Sprite's brain and enabled her to move again - _my feet! I can't move my feet!_ \- it was the sound of her name being called.

'Lessie!' He bawled, ' _Lessie!_ I need you, you have to _help me!_ Please, my baby, don't _leave me here_!'

'Frank!' She ran over to him. 'Frankie!' She knelt down next to him, desperately calling for him to wake up, to stop this madness, to hold and comfort _her_ , _she_ didn't know how to look after somebody else! It was impossible to tell whether he felt her half-mad kicks and punches (the ones she was in no place to be throwing) but she was stuck here watching her only crutch in this world collapse from the inside out and it was sending her insane.

'Oh, _fuck!_ ' Somewhere between a moan and a sigh, she staggered against the wall, hitting her head a little on the way down. She looked around for wherever a camera might be and ended up shouting at thin air. 'Why did you put _me_ in here?! I don't fucking know what to do! This isn't fair, this bastard is going to die and I can't be responsible for another one, I just _can't_!'

Riff Raff walked in then. The demeanour was so calm it was almost rude. Was he even here - _real?_ \- or was this yet another mirage to come out of this perpetual state of phantasmagoria?

'Stand up.'

'What the fuck-?'

'I said stand _up._ '

She stood. Incredibly, she stood. This emaciated skeletal man could order her to jump off a cliff and she'd do so without question.

He nodded towards the helpless Frank. 'You know what to do.'

It took her breath away. 'I do?'

'You've done it before, haven't you?'

'Have I?' This was turning into a game of twenty questions. 'I don't remember ever having to-.'

'Well, you wouldn't. Furter wouldn't either, no doubt. I'd be surprised if anyone would.' The shock paralysed Sprite when the long pale hand came up gently tucked a section of hair behind her ear. Warmer than she'd expected, the elegant fingers ghosted along her jawline - tickling her skin because of its tender softness. Reality came back to her in a dizzying rush when he squeezed her shoulder and - huh? - _smiled at her_. 'Think hard,' he instructed as he stepped away. 'You'll know.'

She was left alone again.

Despite Frank's screams not only continuing but getting shriller, the room seemed to lapse into silence during their interaction. Additionally, the apparent lack of cameras in the room did nothing to waver her suspicion that Riff Raff was surveying her. A surprised sort of happiness filled her - she wanted to impress him.

So, knowing Frank couldn't really die from this as had been occupying and would continue to occur for the rest of his life, Sprite strode over to Frank and put an arm around his shoulders.

'Hi, Frankie.' Her voice astounded _her_ at how calm and assured it was. 'You don't have to be scared anymore. I'm here, see? You wanted me, and I came.' The composure was not the only unusual thing she noticed about her voice. It became slightly more high-pitched, for some reason. That was strange. 'Nothings going to hurt you, Frankie. You have lots of people who love you - or at least, people who love you lots. We need you, don't you see that? You're very important to all of us. I don't mean to be morbid, but if you died, we'd all die with you.'

This didn't seem to be working. The hysteria had quietened, but tremors still wracked his body, eyes remained screwed shut and fear remained prevalent in his whimpers.

Maybe she should talk about something else. Herself, perhaps. They all knew he didn't care all that much for anyone else.

' _I_ want you. _I_ need you. And when you come out of this, as I know you can and will, we can be together all the time, as long as you want. We can have that week together, just like you said - although, I can't think why.'

 _Oh my fucking God he just giggled. What the fuck! Keep going, Sprite, keep going!_

'Can you open your eyes? Frank? Can you open your eyes?' _No, okay fine. He seems to like it when you think out loud, for some reason._ 'Well, um, I think I probably love you the most. You took me in, you looked after me. You've babied me a bit - okay, a lot but I'd be lying if I said I didn't - don't - enjoy it most of the time. I never got that growing up, so I say what's the harm in having it now?'

He chuckled again, very warmly indeed but why did it seem sort of... _offended_?

'You were the one that loved me when nobody else did.'

A big inhale now. Thank fuck. A few more moments and he'd open his eyes. Exactly like reluctantly arising from a very deep sleep.

'And I love you so much. I know I threaten to leave and I do stupid things sometimes... I say a lot of things I don't mean when I get angry... but you couldn't get me away if you tried.' She shook her head, smiling despite the tears in her eyes. Sprite kisses the top of Frank's head, cradled now against her chest. His breathing came out thick, and much more frequent. Control and methodical thought came back into his movements - he snuggled into her chest, holding her tighter on purpose, and even then he still seemed to be laughing. He was so close to waking up Sprite felt confident enough to count it down.

Actually his laughing could just as easily be crying.

The next sentence came to her in a moment of indescribable mental clarity.

'I love you more than... more than all the stars in the sky.'

 _Ew, God, whatever possessed her to say that? Trope overload or what?_

Frank started. A huge shout barked out of him, accompanied by her own muffled curse word. So easily scared was Sprite, it was a wonder how she hadn't suffered a heart attack. He sat bolt upright, conking her _right_ on the chin, as she once had done to him. In a time that felt like a lifetime ago. Her teeth clacked, her eyes watered, she'd bitten her tongue my accident and it really hurt. This prevented her from noticing the utterly awe-struck way Frank was staring at her.

Their eyes met for a second. Before Sprite could really notice anything, a single tear, tattooed with runny black mascara, slipped down his pallid face. He looked her apparently estranged face right in the eye and whispered, 'Juniper?'

And then he passed out all over again.

* * *

Riff Raff indulged in not a wink of sleep that night. Too many things were happening for such a luxury. Too many, too fast. He'd been looking for a sign but this didn't feel right, it wasn't this he wanted. It was an accident, it was tattered fragments of his old mind resurfacing, he didn't even know what he was doing, he shouldn't have even been able to-.

No. No, he wasn't even going to think about thinking about that. It couldn't be wearing off. It was the nonsensical racing's if a lunatic mind. Nothing more.

The man resigned himself to this rational (no one ever said feasible) explanation for himself more than anything. Having always had death as the consequence of being selfish, he didn't quite know how to feel about that. He enjoyed the girl, very much. He enjoyed watching her, listening to her distinctive way of speaking, daydreaming about touching her. All of which were completely undisclosed feelings, of course. He wanted a few more moments of this most unusual creature before she went mad. For she would, one day, inevitably go mad.

He wasn't falling in love with her. It wasn't that cliche. Riff had, over the years, concocted his own unique kind of love for his science projects.

A scientist dies, and it is assumed due to a botched experiment, an assassination gone wrong (or absolutely right depending on the target), or in the most boring of civil stances, simple natural causes.

No one would find Riff's cold, waxy body and assume the guilt had killed him.

A small spray bottle pressed insistently against his side, and had been sat in his tailcoat pocket all morning. Now ripped from the bottle and torn into tiny indistinguishable pieces was a handwritten label, with the name of the substance, effects on the human body and strict instructions for administration. It was to turn her bones very soft, and was a mockingly cheery blue colour. To be sprayed directly in the mouth or into the air and allowed to diffuse, thus guaranteeing the subject inhalers the lethal particles.

What with this week of isolation Furter has planned - his master had managed to tell him before all the pandemonium occurred, because he was given the real reason why and threatened with a hot barbed whip for any objections - he hoped her bones wouldn't disintegrate.

Noise. Footsteps. That was his master coming downstairs now. The steps weren't quick enough to belong to the girl, although she'd be along any moment now. The one predictable thing about the gross pairing was that they were always together. She, however, turned the corner without him.

It was a message. A very clear one. Riff Raff had no choice but to infect her there and then.

* * *

Sprite woke up in her own bed. How had that happened? Did someone come into her once she'd fallen asleep and carry her back in? She turned on her side and saw Frank. Sound asleep next to her. It must have been Riff Raff, she concluded. He could pick Frank up by the arm one handed, slinging him over his shoulder as easily as a rucksack. Which meant he could probably crumble her very bones in his hand and force them back together again.

Magenta possessed the same supernatural strength, but it seemed even _alien_ women were naturally weaker than men.

Sprite reached over to squeeze Frank's hand - she felt delighted to feel his fingers tightening around here in response. For a moment, everything was perfect. And then she remembered.

Recalling it felt like an awful bad dream. Sprite was more then happy to leave it that way. The screaming, the convulsions, that horrific image of Frank's dying half-mad face seemed branded upon her memory... the surreal confusion that _she_ felt, the idiot terror that she was going to helplessly watch him torture himself to death. Riff Raff waltzing in and casually touching her, talking to her as if he not only acknowledged her presence now but actually _cared_ about her... and to top it all off, that most bizarre ending. Frank staring right at her, his flower, his little mouse, his darling, as if he'd never seen her before - or had, but he didn't welcome her return. Sprite wasn't sure which was worse. Then that name. That anonymous name that gave the impression of harbouring unfathomable of power (emotional relevance?) behind it.

They all knew that for Frank to emotionally connect with something - I mean _really_ connect, not just as a way to get something - that was some serious shit.

Frank stirred then, snapping Sprite from her thoughts and turning them instead to the one she loved to hate. She let him hold her close - it was nice and warm in there, and she enjoyed the gentle kisses to the top of her head.

'Oh, Lessie,' he murmured against her hairline, 'I slept like a rock.' He turned away for a monster yawn, hair matted down and flying everywhere, even his makeup had been smudged and grown patchy during the night. Probably from all the crying.

'How are you feeling, Frankie?'

He looked at her. 'Fine.' The right eyebrow arched. 'Why? Slipping aphrodisiacs in my drinks?'

'What? No!' She frowned, trying to keep her exasperation under wraps. He seemed really calm and happy, the last thing she wanted to do was ruin that but he didn't seem to realise the magnitude of the last twenty-four hours. 'How - how much do you remember?'

His eyes narrowed at her, but he thought she was playing, so he continued to humour her. 'Well, he mused, 'I sprint most of yesterday working, that is until those boys arrived, and everything was going rather swimmingly until _someone_ ,' he glared at her playfully, 'took it upon themselves to beat the shit out of one of them. Hugo might be the only person in the world who's scared of you because he left not long afterwards and _then_...' he gripped her waist, fusing her to settle on his lap, 'I took my favourite little mouse to bed.' He raised his eyebrows expectantly. 'Anything else?'

 _He doesn't remember at all_.

'Why are you looking at me like that?'

'You don't remember anything?' She blurted out. She didn't know whether he was supposed to be informed of his actions afterwards. She'd never had to deal with this before. She caught her familiar pattern of her wallpaper from the corner of her eye. There were cameras in here, she knew that. And she was almost as certain of Riff Raff watching her again. No one had been sent in to stop this. She must be doing something right. And, with Riff Raff watching, he was affirming her choices. He hadn't given up on her just yet. The thought encouraged her, and took away some of her fear - for now.

'Try not to get upset?' He nodded, incredibly confused. He was likely to think she was mustering up the courage to tell him about something _she'd_ done wrong. 'You - it - well I -.' She sighed and started again. 'Hugo didn't choose to leave, Frankie. You... you sent him away. You found out Hugo had been using and blackmailing not just me but all of us girls. You got a bit... angry.'

Something like recollection sparked in his eyes, but it was hard to tell with his head down. 'Were you there?' He demanded coldly. 'Did you see anything?'

She whispered, 'I was in the room when it happened, Frankie.' And then she announced, 'But it wasn't your fault!' Before his own exclamation of disgust drowned her out. 'It was no one's fault but Hugo's. Don't feel guilty, Frankie. Please?'

She continued, 'These proper sci-fi looking dudes showed up and took him away. Myself, Magenta and Columbia made up and stayed together in this room - until you came up and passed out on us. You had a bit of a funny turn but Riff helped me calm you down, and I guess I just fell asleep.'

Frank shook his head, looking at her like she held all the stars in her eyes. All the stars in the sky.

'I'm so sorry, my darling. You never should've seen that - any of that. And I certainly don't expect you to assume responsibility when I have one of by bad turns. Although,' he smiled, 'I am glad I was still able to ask for you.'

She returned the smile. He's was small though, more reserved. It was driving her insane. She had to know who this Juniper was. 'I am too. Magenta forbade it but I-.'

'You don't listen to her. You listen to me.'

'I know that,' she said quietly. Probably best not to dwell on this anymore. When was the last time he'd eaten? He must be starving, and the tell-tale smell of warm pancakes was distinguishable from all the way up here. Either that or Sprite was more hungry than she thought.

One more thing first. She had to know.

As offhandedly as she could manage, she asked, 'Who's Juniper?'

Frank frowned. 'Pardon?'

 _Right. Thought so._

'Well... I suppose you could've said anything in a state like that, but-.'

'We have our juniper tree out there.' Frank nodded towards the window. She turned to observe it herself. Where the swing used to be. Hmm.

Whatever. It was probably nothing. Who could be expected to speak coherently whilst their mind unraveled right before their very eyes?

Riff Raff walked in unannounced. He told them breakfast was ready - if they wanted any.

* * *

 **You'll know what's so special about this next update when it goes up. I'm having a hard time believing it myself.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	20. Chapter Twenty

**I said this was going to be longer than usual but I lied.**

 **I did it! Woohoo! Deadlines are crap until you actually meet them.**

 **I said I wanted to post the twentieth instalment on this date because the 16th of September 2018 marks ONE YEAR since the first publication! One year since Sprite got paralytic and passed out in front of everyone favourite transvestite! What?**

 **To think I've been writing this for one year is crazy, but I certainly would not have carried on doing so if it weren't for my readers. I get a lot of PM's and anonymous support (thank you so much!), but in terms of reviews some honourable mentions go to:**

 **LandyShadow - you've been here since the FIRST ONE! You gave my first review ever and filled me to bursting with pride! It warms my heart to know you're still here and actively reading. I know I say this a lot but I can't thank you enough.**

 **Hazel Ashwood - I respect you so much. I can't wait to read your reviews because they are always so intelligent and concise. You're so encouraging and says the nicest things about the crappiest of updates.**

 **Luna - although I can't PM you my thanks as I usually do to those who interact, you post a little story in each review which always cheers me. You're so clever with how you interpret things - you pick up on things that I hadn't even thought of!**

 **Mr. Knightman- I know this one is pretty quiet, but you give me a lot of advice. A lot. Your criticism is always constructive, and I'd still be stuck on the first plot development if it wasn't for you.**

 **Enjoy this very special first anniversary edition of Bad Habits (sometimes I forget it's called that lmao): A Rocky Horror Picture Show Fanfiction.**

* * *

Sprite tried her best to carry on as normal, but no amount of sleep, or distraction, or even sex could get rid of this horrible feeling of sickness in the pit of her stomach. However this, at least, was one illness she was all to familiar with.

She was worried. That was all. The series of harrowing events had left her feeling so anxious that she felt physically ill. Seeing Frank in that horrific state had left her shaken, given her nightmares, burned itself upon her memory. She had a hard time closing her eyes without seeing that distorted face. She hadn't yet been brave enough to casually mention that week alone that Frank had been so optimistic about. If she reminded him it would only come around sooner, and Sprite didn't know what she would do with herself if Magenta and Columbia weren't close by at all times. She needed their experience and family-like reassurance - especially when she knew what would be happening (or rather done to) herself in the meantime. And the icing on the cake, Sprite was now almost entirely sure of Riff Raff's knowledge within this surreal situation. One of Sprite and Columbia's first serious conversations led to the dancer revealing she had her suspicions about the dour character. And after turning humane and gentle as quick as one turns a coin over and interrupting her interrogation of Frank regarding this mysterious Juniper, everything fell into place.

Riff knew why Frank's temper had worsened so severely in such a short space of time - Columbia suggested that. He knew Sprite was capable of handling Frank's blackouts despite never having done it before, he knew more about Frank's work than anyone, he probably knew about Hugo the whole time and Sprite was willing to bet he even knew about the laboratory.

Riff knew about this Juniper. And having no evidence to go on was driving Sprite insane.

She did this all the time: jumped to unnecessary conclusions. It just made so much _sense_. For even Columbia to become suspicious, who, without being rude, wouldn't notice a meteor landing unless it jumped up and hit her in the face, something _must be going on here_.

Oooh so many frustrating things.

Sprite signed the diary entry off with a confident flourish, feeling a million times better for getting that off her chest. She had to her out of here quickly though - writing in a stolen notebook from a stumbled upon cupboard full of them which she now stood in. Boxes upon boxes upon boxes crammed the shelves, and from what she could see, they all contained notebooks. Small ones, big ones, plain, decorated, empty, doodled in, filled the very brim with ink and pencil lead and passion.

She crouched to take a handful of pens and _smacked_ her head on a rogue box on the way up.

The box tipped over the edge and landed face down in the middle of the room, loose sheets of paper flying everywhere. Not, it should be noted, in the quietest of fashions.

Oh man. Fuck, she was probably going to get into trouble now. She righted the cardboard box and began quickly piling the papers back in. She hoped the didn't have to be in any particular order.

As she reached for one, she recognised Frank's penmanship. That curly-swirly writing that no normal person could read. In fact, the few left on the floor looked the same. Rifling through the box, Sprite found every paper in here had been written by Frank.

And they weren't papers at all. They were letters.

Curiosity soaring now, Sprite had no choice but to stay and devour them all - as soon as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

Sprite came out of that room feeling rather faint. She hadn't strained her eyes by reading every single one, because as it turns out she hadn't needed to. All in the same hand, the same longing tone, the same rip-my-heart-out-and-gift-it-to-you kind of love.

All addressed to the same person.

 _My dearest Juniper, my Juno, sweet Junie, my love, my own darling, my kitten._

Pages upon pages of these tales of longing and woe, all expressed by the same man and all intended for this poor Juniper. One end quote struck her as particularly poignant, and brought real tears to her eyes:

 _If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life._

What the fuck had she gotten herself into now.

It had been two weeks since Hugo left. Frank would have forgotten it by now. His desperate mind had given Sprite the face of his beloved Juniper, this woman he would have clearly done anything for. What had happened to her? Why wasn't she here anymore? And what the fuck did this have to do with Riff Raff?

So infatuated with her was he, that Frank continued to write these melancholy love-letters for years after she'd gone?

A new letter every day that he'd never send and she'd never see. To keep them stored here, a permanent reminder of what he'd lost or what he once had (which was worse?) only a stone's throw away from him at all times and clearly driving the man over the edge... it was barbaric.

Indescribably angry now, she grabbed a fistful of letters and marched down the corridor, fully prepared to confront Riff Raff with these in her hand and demand to know what the hell was going on.

If she hadn't ran into Frank first.

She heard his shoes before him. She stuffed the evidence into a nearby vase without really thinking. Thank God it didn't have water in. Had he been parading around in knee high socks or no shoes at all, she'd most definitely be caught dead.

The first thing she said was, 'Why are you dressed like that?'

Frank came around the corner in the most clothes Sprite had ever seen him in. He wore a ribbed polar neck, leather-look, full length trousers and high boots: six inch heel and laced at the back. The only normal thing about his outfit, other than it being all black. Except for his lipstick, which was a never-before-seen orangey red.

'Well it's nice to see you too.' He smirked, crossing his arms. 'A spot of blood stained my clothing so I had to toss them.'

Don't laugh, Sprite. Don't laugh. 'And you didn't have any more corsets?'

'Yes, but it's fucking cold.'

'You always wear corsets!'

'What is this, twenty questions or something?' He opened his arms and she went to him instinctively. It was nice, being held in generic clothes. Softer. More comforting. He smoothed down her own clothes with some semblance of property, and murmured into her hair as he spoke. 'Now what were you doing up here all by yourself, flower? Hmm?' He smiled, 'Magenta's asking for you.'

'I like my own company.'

'I know that, darling, but all the way up here?' He always played with her hair whenever asking her questions. It wasn't fair, she couldn't concentrate.

'I don't like to be interrupted.'

He chuckled. 'Alright, mousy.' He left a perfect kiss print on her forehead. 'I came to talk to you anyway, so do you want to come with me?'

They went to Frank's room, as always. Guaranteed privacy, safest room in the house, a lot of good memories here... the reasons were endless. Sprite had lost count of how many times Frank had sat up against the pillows and cradled her in his lap. As they were doing right now. They never got right into the conversation either - they enjoyed each other's precede for a few moments, usually rocky gently or at least stroking her hair. In the end, with her head on his shoulder, it was her who broke the silence.

'I missed you.'

His grip tightened. 'I missed you too, my love.' She was delighted to sense him smiling. 'Not the same, was it?'

'Mm-mm.'

'Listen.' He pulled away and held her at arms length. Without fail, this was the stance that preceded an important conversation. 'I know that this was my fault. I made a mistake, I was too selfish to see what was under my nose the whole time. I let you down, and I can't tell you how sorry I am.'

Okay wow. Sprite had never heard so many apologies come out at once. It blindsided her to learn he knew how.

'You saw some things,' he continued in that grave tone. 'Things I vowed for you to never see. And I can't change that now, but you must _promise_ that you _know_ you didn't do anything wrong. None of this was because of you. If Magenta or Columbia we're honourable enough to tell me I would have done the same. That man does not get to ruin your life, do you understand?'

That faint feeling was upon her again. Even just thinking about it made her woozy. She nodded once, but even that was not too convincing, as Frank turned into being especially tender and gentle.

'I don't feel guilty.' Frank wiped the silent tears as they fell. 'I just... to see you lose control like that, and the things you did to him, it was...'

Frank squeezed her hands until it was almost painful, pressing the back of one to his sticky red mouth. It brought her back to the first time they met, and got her thinking: if she could see herself now, would she have stayed?

'I know it must have been awful to watch,' Frank murmured in the most understand and gentle tone yet. 'And to make you handle me in the aftermath was inexcusable, I'll never forgive them for that. But I swore that I would protect you, and sometimes that means people will get hurt.'

He tilted her chin up, forcing her (in the most gentle way possible) to maintain eye contact.

'But I'd _never_ hurt you.' Her eyes dropped. 'You know that, don't you?'

 _Did you hurt Juniper?_

She hid her fade in his chest so she wouldn't have to respond.

* * *

Frank had been serious about sending the others away all along. He sprung it on her a day or two after some well-deserved make up sex and she couldn't do much in the way of objection, so here they were, one day before everyone was scheduled to vacate the premises and abandon her here with this madman.

'It's going to be fine,' Magenta reassured her in the garden that morning. When people in this house let's 'let's go for a walk' they meant walk a few feet to the back door and talk where everyone can see them. 'You're going to be just fine. He had an episode less than a week ago, he will not have another one. We'll be coming back in a week, darling, we're not leaving forever.'

'But where's he sending you?' She look up at Magenta's kind face. 'And why do all of you have to go?'

Magenta had no idea where they were going - or why for that matter, she assumed it was the final tactical move to get the girl hopelessly devoted to him once and for all - but of course she wasn't going to tell Sprite that.

'My brothers more responsible and organised than I am,' she smiled, 'you should ask him. He'll know.'

Riff Raff was outside with them right now, but on the other side of the garden so there's no way he could've heard their conversation. Turns out the man was in charge of the garden after all. He was the one who planted all the pretty flowers.

'Well, I have to go back inside now, but,' she gathered Sprite up close and kissed her on both cheeks, 'I'll be here in the morning, okay? To say goodbye, and please don't lie away all night worrying. Alright?' Magenta ruffled her hair. 'Everything's going to be fine. You'll love it. We'll come back and you'll be pestering Frank to send us away again.'

Sprite said that would never happen and held on tight for one last hug. She loved Magenta _so_ much, she couldn't fathom why she was scared of her in the beginning. She watcher her go until she crossed the threshold, patiently dealing with Razor jumping up at her. As soon as she was out of sight, Sprite turned and matched towards Riff Raff.

As luck would have it, he was just finishing his dirty task. The tools beside him were caked with soil, his clothes not much better - but an army of freshly planted bulbs stood to attention in perfect little rows throughout the flowerbed. She deliberately walked right in his sight line and sat on a padded white iron bench. The same one she cried on the night of Frank's madness in fact - not that she remembered any of that.

Riff sighed and turned reluctantly, eyeing her with a bored expression that just begged to be punched. He raised an eyebrow at her and drawled, 'Yes?'

'Are you going to tell me about this Juniper thing or not?'

He frowned. 'Pardon?'

'You know damn well what I'm talking about.' She crossed her ankles and folded her arms across her chest. 'I know you know, even Columbia has her suspicions about you now, so I'm not leaving until you tell me.'

'The only thing I know about juniper is that ghastly tree over there.' He has the audacity to smirk. 'My sisters very pleased with herself when she uses the berries to make her own gin.'

The stood and walked up to him. 'Look, I know something is going on here, I'm not stupid-.'

'Just misguided.'

'Will you shut up?' That surprised even herself. She hadn't known she could be so assertive. 'You know so much more than we do, about everything, and you're not letting on. The others may have dismissed it by now but I know there's something bigger behind all of this. No one gets to where Frank is by bad luck. Something happened to him and I know you know what it is. You know about Frank's work, you know about why his temper has gotten so much worse, you probably knew about what Hugo was doing and why the whole time...'. She paused and flared at him. 'You know why Frank looked me dead in the face and called me Juniper. Now will you please just tell me?'

'Why are you even bothered?' He stressed, using the most emotion she'd ever seen out of him. 'Do you even know what happens to Furter when he coils into his head like that? His mind collapses in on itself, the very connections between his brain calls fall apart, _the man's brain shuts down and starts again_. I'm not surprised it didn't make any sense, he could say almost anything and he wouldn't have control over it!'

'And he was still able to remember this person!' She yelled in defence. 'Vividly enough to see her standing in front of him! If his mind haywires like that and he still knows about her, doesn't that tell you something?'

He went to clasp her shoulders but she darted out the way. He wasn't touching her ever again, not after last time.

'Look,' he said, 'you're thinking this over too much. Even if he did appear to see something, he could have tried to say something else but this juniper came out instead. And if juniper was intended, he could have been referring to a man, a woman, a dog, a chair. What evidence do you have that this juniper is a person?'

'Because I have-!' She felt in her pocket and found it empty. Oh fuck. Of course, the letters were still stuffed in the vase. She explained what happened instead, and offered to retrieve the letters if he wanted any proof.

'You mean you went looking through personal belongings?' Riff asked. 'Went wandering around on your own, looking through things you're not supposed to, deliberately disobeying Frank and heartlessly exploiting his valuable sentiments? I wouldn't like to be in your shoes if he found out about that.' She flushed a guilty shade of red and dropped her head submissively. 'So I'll ask you again. What evidence do you have?'

She sighed. 'I don't.'

'Right.'

'Where's he sending you?'

'Somewhere far enough away so I don't get irritated by people like you.' He glared at her and she glared right back. To think shortly he was so gentle and calming, only now he'd turned back into that sullen figure skulking around in the background - who she realised, actually, she wasn't a bit scared of anymore. 'Columbia gets to indulge in her mindless activities, Magenta has actual freedom to choose where she goes on her long walks and I get to spend seven days not talking nor looking at anyone.' His eyebrows raised. 'Satisfied?'

She scoffed and stormed away. Not five steps were taken before she gave in to temptation and turned back to shout. She continued to walk backwards while she argued, so to her it didn't really count.

'I will find out about this, you know!' The threat came sharp. Concise. Confident. 'I will get to the bottom of this with or without your help, but mark my words if I find out you've been capable of helping Frank this whole time I will waste no time in exposing you!'

'Mm-hmm.' He responded with his back to her. 'See you tomorrow.'

* * *

The next morning was the hardest. Out of everything Sprite had experienced under this roof. By no means of exaggeration, her dear friends standing by the door with packed bags at their feet was the worst thing she'd ever seen. She started crying immediately, although she promised she wouldn't, and the three girls gathered around for one last group hug.

'Come here, you big silly, we're only going for a week! We'll be back before you know it!' Magenta behaved as ever the motherly figure: adjusting Sprite's hair, wiping her tears away, smoothing our the wrinkles in her clothes.

Sprite didn't let go of either of them, sniffling, 'I'll just miss you, that's all.'

'We'll miss you too, Tink!' Columbia opted for the slightly more platonic affection, playfully punching her arm like old friends. 'But were going to have fun, and you're going to have fun, and by the time we get back we'll be scheming to take _you_ with us.'

They all understood why Sprite was scared to spend a week alone with Frank, and the girls explain their sensitivities to Sprite. They didn't scold or tease her for feeling that way, and she was grateful for that. The also reassured her that, despite Frank's unpredictable tendencies, he totally and utterly _adored_ Sprite (the reason why didn't bear thinking about) and Frank would not, under any circumstances, let anything bad happen to his very own little mouse.

She let out a small laugh. It sounded funny coming from them.

'Oh look, here're he comes now, and if you cry he's going to cry and I can tell you that's not a pretty sight.'

Frank stuck his tongue out at Magenta who grinned back mischievously, but he did come forward and embrace her kindly.

'Enjoy yourself,' he murmured. 'Take care.'

He spent a lot more time with Columbia, who sprinted over and threw herself at him. She almost knocked him over from hugging him so hard. He growled playfully and tickled her, swinging her around like a rag doll while she squealed. He scattered wet kisses all over her face before steadying her on her feet.

'Now you, go and have fun,' he instructed as if it were an order. 'And be good. Hmm?'

She nodded, beaming up at him with the biggest smile and bright red cheeks. In this state, he could've been saying anything and she would be nodding along without question. A pang of real sadness was in there somewhere. After all this time and she'd still do anything for him. She loved him. And the most unjust thing in the world was the inability to switch that off.

'Oh, that's Riff waving at me,' Magenta spotted. 'I guess it's time to go.'

Magenta's brother had chosen not to bid them goodbye in person, opting to load the bags and wait in the truck instead. Sprite couldn't imagine why.

They shared one last monster hug between the four of them, and Sprite had to hold back tears again as they walked out the door. They stood in the window, Frank wrapping his arms around Sprite from behind, watching them climb into the truck and drive off. They stayed, blowing kisses and waving, until the truck was no longer in sight. They walked through the already too quiet foyer and sat in the living room.

'Well.' Sprite and Frank looked at each other. 'Now what?'

* * *

Bound and gagged for the fourth time that day. That's what.

They couldn't keep their hands off each other for more than five minutes at a time with no one around to stop them. With not a chance of being interrupted either, the playtime they normally got up to increased into something she never even dreamed of, let alone thought she could handle.

In the bed, on the floor, across sofas, over tables, against walls, even the pool once or twice, which was a personal first for her.

Worrying Frank might rip her in half hardly outweighed the positives, especially when he was always so gentle with her afterwards. She was never forced into anything and she knew what to say if things got a little overwhelming or she needed to take a break. Like now, for instance, three days in when all the exertion started to catch up with her. Which is why her insane lover found Sprite wrapped up on a padded sofa, in the middle of a monster nap. She hadn't even taken off her harness.

Frank tried put away some time in lab while his little pet was sleeping, but he couldn't stay away for very long. In total he lasted three hours (with the usual being around ten or twelve) because he just had to see her again.

Frank's meek little mouse was rather addictive to him.

He though his heart would explode when he saw there, all bundled up and cozy. Far away in dreamland with her loyal Persephone curled up by her side. He sank into a chair opposite her. The last thing he wanted to do now was wake her. She was too lovely to disturb.

Persephone stirred and padded over to him - she was brought into his lap under the condition she didn't wake his darling - and not long afterwards Frank found himself talking to her.

'What do you think, Percy?' He gently stroked her soft head. 'About all this? Hmm? Do you think I'm doing the right thing? _I_ think I'm doing the right thing.'

The dog looked up at him earnestly.

'They said I needed to earn my way back inside, but why can't Rocky be mine? I made him, surely I should get to keep him? They don't need to know I changed my mind halfway through, for all they know this intergalactic immigration thing was my idea all along!'

Persephone whined. Almost as if she understood every word he was saying.

'I know you don't like seeing her in pain, darling, and I don't either, but sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Years from now when my people have the glory we've always deserved, no one will ask _me_ how _I_ felt! No one will ask me about the sacrifices _I_ made! I love my little mouse more than anything in this life, and she, like all the others, is going to abandon me!'

She grumbled, resting her head on her paws.

'Everyone except you of course, princess.' He sighed, leaning his head against the back of the chair. 'I only hope she isn't too upset with me once she learns of our plans tomorrow.'

Persephone jumped down and trotted away. It seemed the other girl in his life wasn't too happy with his secret-keeping either.

It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to tell her, it was because she'd never go along with it if she knew. At the very least, all that inevitable worrying would spoil their most pleasurable time together, and he didn't want that.

He resolved to do it the moment she woke up. In fact, he'd run her a nice bath (hopefully the noisy water would rouse her) keep her calm and relaxed with essential oils and incense sticks, and - fingers crossed - she wouldn't throw her toys out the pram. Not that a tantrum would make any difference, it was happening whether she liked it or not, but Frank was absolutely not in the mood to deal with a stroppy mouse today.

She must have been more exhausted than he thought: she didn't so much as whimper throughout the entire preparation. He had been deliberately noisy as well, making twice as much noise as was really necessary, and she still slept through it! Typical, the one time he appreciated her being a light sleeper and she doesn't fucking wake up.

Frank had to do this gently. She was evil in the mornings.

He sank down to her level first, gauging whether she was still asleep or just pretending. He started with her hair, that worked without fail. Running his fingers through it, massaging her head, curling pieces around his fingers. The soothing gesture received a deep inhale, but not enough just yet. He traced her jawline, barely brushing the skin so it was bound to tickle. Stroking her flawless pale cheek with his thumb often helped, more so now when she laid at such an awkward angle, but still her eyes did not open. Frank hesitated before leaning in to kiss her forehead. He used to do this right away, but now he had to be careful about it. The silly girl once thought it would be funny to wait until a hair's breath separated them, then leap right up and scare him. It ended in tears, of course - she hadn't considered they could bump heads.

This time, however, she began to stir.

'Baby...' he murmured into her hairline. 'You've been sleeping for three hours. Don't you think it's time to wake up?' The sofa wasn't quite wide enough for her to turn away from him. 'Come on, darling,' he chuckled, 'otherwise you'll never sleep tonight.' He kissed the back of her neck. 'How about a bath? Hmm?'

She exhaled, her sweet voice still thick with sleep. 'Is there a way to have one without leaving my quilt?'

She slept under a weighted one now, and it worked wonders. Not one nightmare for two weeks.

'I'm afraid not, mousy,' he laughed. 'Come on, I'll take you. Look you don't even have to walk, I'll carry you. Hmm? See how spoilt you are?'

She giggled.

* * *

The baths in the Zen Room were large enough for eight people, never mind two. It was always a good decision to share a bath with someone, even more so now because Frank could stop Lessie falling asleep again. And probably drowning herself shortly after, but it didn't do well to think like that.

'Oh, but why aren't you staying?' She treaded water after him, leaning her crossed arms on the edge of the tub. 'Please stay, Frankie?'

A black silk robe hung loosely about his shoulders, purple slippers on his feet. With makeup all washed off and damp hair sticking up everywhere, he looked like a different person. He ignored her pleas, setting out a pile of fluffy towels, a matching set of pink slippers and a silk robe of her own. 'Not this time, darling,' he said. 'You're supposed to be relaxing.'

'I _am_ relaxing!'

'Fornication in a steaming hot bathtub does not count as relaxing,' he teased, for he knew his presence would only guarantee that. He wanted to stay (it took all his willpower to walk away) but she needed to rest if she were to perform at her best tomorrow. He knelt down to cup her cheeks, peppering the soft skin with sweet kisses. 'Take as long as you want, I'll be here when you come out.' With a final nip to her jawline, he rose to his feet and left the room.

Sprite huffed, reclining against the multitude of bath cushions. Well, she was royally pissed off now. She spends the last three days catering to his every whim and the one time she wants it she's not fucking allowed. Double standards or what. Grrr.

At least she had a lot of time to think in here. Alone time had all but evaporated after the others left. And Sprite had an awful lot to be thinking about.

She could bring up the letters. With Riff Raff gone for a whole week it was possible the distraction would cause him to forget. Then she wouldn't get dropped in it. No, she didn't believe that one either.

Still, she was getting rather antsy now. This was their third day alone together - the third day of Frank shutting himself in the lab for hours at a time under the assumption she was sleeping - and she hadn't made an ounce of progress. This Juniper was as elusive as a character in a storybook. But she seemed real, Sprite believed she was real. She was real enough to leave a gaping whole in each further year of Frank's life. She was real enough for Riff Raff to interrupt them, just so they'd stop discussing her. She was real enough to exist - and Sprite was determined to find out more.

Sleuthing around in the daytime was impossible. Her own weak willpower was at fault for that. All she could think about was when the next playtime session would be: to the extent that Frank - _Frank_ \- refused to be in the same room with her in case she tried it on with him. He was trying to protect her, Sprite understood that. Her body liked to pretend it was as durable as Frank's. She didn't realise the extents of this exertion until she wasn't performing any. Like now, for example, stretching and writhing under deliciously warm water with a dull ache in her bones.

Looking down at herself proved her to be covered in marks. Love bites, scratches, bruises, handcuff marks, rope burn. Every imprint under the sun and probably a little more.

She sighed again, absentmindedly toying with the dried rose petals floating around with her. She just had so many _questions_. Frank knew everything about her, she didn't know a thing about him. He stayed reluctant to reveal most anything about the years before this planet. But surely she'd proven herself trustworthy now, so why was he still not telling her?

Just as that thought sailed through her head, a guttural moan sounded from upstairs. Sprite was draining the bath, so she didn't hear it. It was crucial that she didn't, for two words, as clear as they were unsettling, were called from within the walls of the house.

 _Help me._

* * *

The living room was empty when Sprite emerged from the Zen Room. Washed hair, smooth skin, nice and calm and smelling like spiced roses, she was looking forward to some hardcore Frankie cuddles.

But he wasn't there. Calling for him only brought the dogs running. She sat on the floor and played with them for a while (all five of them - yes five, Columbia didn't take Earnie with her) absolutely pounced on her. She shrieked and laughed, not minding their licks and playful growls one bit. She must smell nicer than she thought. But when she stood up and de-haired her soft jumper and comfortable leggings afterwards, Frank still didn't come.

Sprite wandered around a little, but there was only so far she was willing to go. The amount of times she'd almost killed herself while roaming these corridors before. Having four people around to rush to her aid was handy, but with only one (whom evidently was preoccupied) it wasn't worth the risk.

Oh actually, what she could do was run up and put those letters back. They'd been in that vase for a while now, hopefully they weren't too indistinguishable. She took the stairs two at a time on account of the elevator being too loud, and set about scouring the area for that one unique vase.

She thought it was yellow, but perhaps it was green? Maybe it even could have been blur. So far every vase she'd come across had had flowers in it.

Oh no... unless Riff Raff purposely destroyed them with water and soil to spite her? _If you hadn't stolen Frank's things there wouldn't be any letters to ruin._ Man, well the vase had to be here somewhere, she hadn't even stumbled upon that yet-.'

Oh look, there they are. Tucked away in the fireplace. Riff had obviously hidden them in plain sight, going for Frank to find them before she did. _Well, fuck you_ ,' she thought to herself as she picked them up.

The material (strange, she thought, much thicker than normal paper) was slightly stained by the door she blew away, but other than that, they stayed all in one piece. Frank's handwriting has barely been ruined at all, though still very hard to decipher from a working-class born commoner like herself-.

Wait. Hang on. Were these even the same letters?

 _Put it back, Sprite. You'll only get yourself into deeper waters than you already are. You don't need to read it, just put them back before Frank catches you._

Said her brain, useless in the attempts to steer her away.

These papers were not enveloped. Each letter filled exactly one page. Four letters, penned on the same yellowish parchment in the same scratchy ink. All addressed to the same person - a name she couldn't hope to pronounce.

She immediately guessed that Frank was corresponding with someone from his own planet - because it was written in a language she'd never seen before.

Three letters had been stored in the fireplace, for some reason. The only distinguishable thing about them was the date. These had been written in seven day intervals. The latest one bore the date of yesterday. Three weeks of information sat right here in her hands. If only she could understand it.

A door slammed above her.

She jumped an absolute mile, throwing away the papers by accident. She lunged for them but only pushed them further away. Sprite watched in mute despair as the letters wafted down towards the next floor. One caught in a candelabra (which wasn't lit, thank God) and tore right in half, one slipped between a gap in the stairs, and the other slipped silently out of the window.

For fuck's sake. Three letters and she couldn't save but one.

Never mind that, her own letters were still hidden somewhere. But to be honest, Sprite herself had all but forgotten about that. If they were going to be found, someone would have found them by now.

And that was Frank coming down the stairs.

She sprinted back to the living room and threw herself on the sofa. Sprite had about five seconds to arrange herself naturally (dog on lap, book in hand) before Frank came in.

She looked up, as nonchalantly as possible. 'Oh there you are!' Sprite exclaimed. 'Where did you go?'

'Sorry, darling, it was my fault really. I had to dash upstairs because _someone_ ,' he glared at Cujo, who was sat there panting and having not a clue that he was in trouble, 'decided to tear up my expensive cushions.' A huge string of saliva fell from the dogs mouth. Frank shook his head in despair. 'Get out of here, stupid dog,' he laughed, thumping Cujo's back as he plodded away.

'Frankie?'

'Yes, darling?'

'What were your parents like?'

He choked on fresh air. He fixed her with a state unlike anything she'd ever seen. 'My parents?' The phrase sounded foreign in the air. It seemed to sit uncomfortably in his mouth.

With self assured confidence, she continued, 'Well I've been here long enough and after everything I've told you I think I deserve to know, and if you're not going to tell me anything about _your_ past, the only thing left to do is ask.'

He sighed. Stood with his hands on his hips - the cogs visible in amazing detail, turning above his head. Rolled his eyes in defeat. 'Alright,' he agreed, 'come on then. Come with me.'

Sprite scampered up the stairs, filled to bursting with excitement. She beat Frank to his room due to her feverish enthusiasm, and waited patiently for Frank to catch up with her. He was out of breath when he came around the corner, staring at her in a sort of amazement as she sat cross-legged on the bed.

'Lessie, he huffed, 'I'm not as lusty as I used to be.' He leaned on the wall for support. 'When did you get so fast?'

'It was that or get beaten up,' she replied. 'Now _please_ tell me about where you came from.'

He went to the wardrobe first ( _everything_ seemed to be stored in there, never mind just clothes), and retrieved a small black box. It reminded her of that ghostly music box - the one she'd buried right at the back of her own storage units and succeeded in forgetting about it. Hugo found it one day and used it to make her hold a piece of coal straight from the burning fireplace.

'Well that's easy,' he said. 'You see, flower, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much-.'

She hurled a pillow at him and he dodged it, cackling.

Sprite was hoisted into Frank's lap, feeling more safe and content as soon as he kissed her temple. Against her skin, he murmured, 'What do you want to know?'

'Everything,' she replied.

'Alright... then I suppose I should start by explaining a few social constructs.' Sensing a deliciously detailed story in the works, she wriggled around to get herself comfortable. 'Where I'm from, its very rare for children to know who their real parents are. Babies come about in the same way you're used to, but this whole protection thing doesn't exist at home. Anyway.

'Parents can absolutely raise a child they conceive between them if they so choose, but it very rarely happens. Most children are adopted. The appropriate checks are in place of course, but as long as one can pass them, anyone can raise a child of their own. One female, one male, two females, two males, some children are even known to have five or six designated guardians if they all want to take care of them. It's an unorthodox concept for those who've never heard of it, but that way no child is left unwanted.'

Sprite chuckled. 'Should've been me.'

Frank kissed her shoulders before going on. 'I don't have an awful lot of memories of my father - he started complaining of stomach pains about three years after my birth. Turned up dead a few weeks later. The cause of death was a severe allergic reaction, but it's speculated to this day that my father was poisoned - but my mother was incredible. Batshit crazy, don't get me wrong, and she never did like me much. But nobody loved me like she did.'

Frank drew the box closer. 'I only have one picture of the two of them together,' he said quietly. 'Do you want to see?'

Sprite agreed wholeheartedly.

The box contained all sorts of mementoes, heirlooms and knick-knacks. The contents was shifted through for a while before the picture surfaced. It was a tiny little thing, much smaller than the average Polaroid - but in the most vivid of colour. She'd never seen such a sharp historical contrast before. It was both funny and surreal to her. Sprite didn't have to be told to be careful with it.

The picture shook slightly in her hand. The root of the only thing she'd ever loved (and had even loved her back) was presented right here, in front of her own eyes. Held in her own two hands.

Both people are amongst the most strikingly beautiful she'd ever seen. It was no secret where Frank got his looks from. She could see so much of him in both of them. The father had his eyes, and the mother had his infectious smile. He hadn't been too lucky with the hair. The wild curled hadn't come from either, it seemed, although the beautiful colour was evident. Even their style was faintly reminiscent in Frank. The black, the heels, the sophistication despite all the allure. The intricate art of looking straight out of a glossy magazine and looking like a complete scruff bag at the same time.

'I don't understand,'she said. She felt Frank start in his seat. 'You look so much like both of them, and they're a man and woman. How can that be when all children are adopted?'

' _Most_ children,' he corrected her. 'Except...' He paused here again. 'Those from within the monarchy.'

* * *

 **I've kind of given up on the whole song lyrics thing for those who haven't noticed.**

 **Happy one year to the gang xoxo**

 **Alma Oakley**


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Hello! Thank you to everyone for all the kind anniversary wishes, it warmed my heart to read them.**

 **I really don't know I feel about this chapter. I feel like my writing has been slacking a little bit lately. That could be down to writer's block or I could simply be being hard on myself. I don't know, but I feel like my earlier entries were of much better quality. Hopefully things pick back up soon!**

 **Also, for those of you who were loosing their minds about Juniper - please don't explode.**

* * *

Sprite's face turned paler than usual. She tuned to look at Frank, who was smirking at her, and when she spoke her voice came out as a tiny squeak.

'Excuse me?'

'You heard me.' Frank beamed, showing off all his blinding white teeth. 'Those born of nobility _have_ to share the bloodline. The parents of whom don't get a choice. However since only the first-born can inherit any sort of title from their parents, only the first-born has to be raised by their biological parents. Any children after that can be taken in, if the parents choose so, of course. But not to just anyone. Only the dearest of friends or trusted of applicant can take in a royal baby.'

Sprite laughed a little hysterically. Frank searched for her hands and grasped both between one of his own. She hadn't realised they were trembling.

'So you're... are you a prince?' Sprite couldn't take her eyes from the box. Handcrafted in expensive leather, the object appeared beautifully striking in the afternoon light. The lid captured her attention most of all. The glorious design stitched in exquisite detail stood out as all too familiar. The one on her bracelet which she still kept in her drawer. The one Magenta showed her on that night that seemed like a lifetime ago. The one Sprite had on her ankle.

'Not quite,' her Frankie chuckled, bring her out of her uneasy thoughts.. 'I will never be king one day, unfortunately. I'm a Count.' He tickled her from behind playfully. 'How would you like to be my Countess?'

She felt a bit woozy then - although she couldn't help giggling. She had always thought that that ridiculous cape he liked to wear made him look like a camp Dracula. What luck she never told him that.

'Are you being serious?'

'I'm very serious. Look, I'll show you.' He brought the box onto their laps and sifted his way through it. He selected a stunning silver brooch, encrusted with rubies and emeralds and all sorts of precious jewels. Sprite snatched her hand away from it at first, not wanting to get her grubby commoner hands on it.

Frank reassured her, 'You can handle it, darling, it's okay. Just be careful now.'

'I can't, I really-.'

'Go on, I'll let you. Shall I pin it on you?' Here,' he slipped the pin (even that probably cost more than her house) through the woollen material of her faded sweater and secured it with one swift movement. The thing was _heavy_ , causing the light material to droop over her breastbone. 'There. Beautiful.' He pecked her cheek softly. 'I'd wear that if I had an official meeting to attend, or a public engagement to go to. See all the light it's catching?'

Sprite, half-blind, said, 'Mm-hmm.' Torn pieces of rainbows filtered over her frown. 'You didn't wear this to the affair last time.'

'That's because they already know who I am,' Frank grinned. 'Everyone in that room was of nobility. Most of us grew up together.'

Sprite's stomach flipped. 'Hugo had a noble title?'

The ease between them disappeared immediately. 'Yes,' Frank said in a tone much darker now. 'He was a Baron, although he would have been stripped of that by now.'

A thrill ran up Sprite's spine. She wondered what had happened to him.

'What was it like growing up for you, Frank?' Sprite had to change the subject right now before something irreversible happened. 'Was it much different to here, or...?'

'Oh it was _so_ different, Frank agreed. The excitement in the room lifted - a story was about to be told.

'I never fully understood the term alien until I came here,' Frank began. 'I arrived and found people to be telling stories to be avoiding school, taking opioids, disrespecting their parents, not knowing a thing about mutual respect... I'd never seen anything like it.'

Her face reddened. He just described her.

Frank slung an arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer before he continued. 'All children received adequate schooling, of course, but all of mine was given to me privately. You know, I'm not even convinced there _were_ institutional buildings for such a purpose.

'I had a wonderful tutor who used to come to our manor and give me lessons on all sorts of wonderful things. I can't quite remember her name now but she always wore fetish boots and had bright pink hair.'

Sprite guffawed.

'I took an immediate liking to the sciences, which I'm told would have immensely pleased my father, but I learned how to do all sorts under her care. My mother was a fine musician so she had me learn piano-.'

Sprite lit up. Grabbed his arm in excitement. 'You play piano?'

'Yes, little one, but I'm a little rusty these days. I chose to create sounds that were pretty and dainty - can't stand the god-awful din of drums - although I once snapped a flute clean in half because I didn't have an aptitude for it. I got in so much trouble for that, but it was worth it to see my educator beaming with pride when I eventually succeeded. I'd have done anything to please her back then. And I think I only just realised that.

'She taught me to write, to count, to read and annunciate. I didn't always sound like your Queen, I used to talk horribly when I was younger. Such a thick accent, all strong R's and harsh W's. I wasn't too bad of a sportsman - Hugo used to beat me at cricket all the time but _no one_ could challenge my serve in tennis.'

'I was included in conversation about sex when I was around six - which was the average age for education of the sort to come about in... how would you say? Public school? To us it was just another life skill, identical to swimming or child-rearing or learning another language. It was a compulsory component of any child's curriculum from around six, like I said, to when we no longer received an education at eighteen.'

Sprite interrupted him for a second there. 'So um... how old would you have been when you... you know, the first-.'

'I put all my theory into practice at eleven, which I'll admit is a little early even for my people, but... it was never something you shouldn't do. It was something to consider and only go about doing if both - or all - of you feel ready. The maturity to make the decision and conduct oneself properly came down to education, and I had the best money could buy.'

 _Oh my God, Sprite, why are you blushing? You're literally thinking about pre-teen Frank! Why do you always have to go red, Sprite, you're so embarrassing!_

'And when I came here I couldn't believe it. Most anyone wouldn't talk about it, half these poor saps didn't know what they were doing let alone how to do it safely, and I even heard that parents outright _refuse_ to educate their children! I'd never seen anything so barbaric in all my life. It's such a taboo subject here - you, my darling little mouse are a prime example,' he teased, pinching one of her flushed cheeks, 'but it's no wonder so many have bad experiences. The only way to prevent confusion, harm, fear or humiliation is to talk about it. To learn, and if people can't or won't teach you then educate yourself. And with you cotton-heads making people wait until their sixteen to even think about it... no wonder people get hurt. All I can say is I'm glad to have grown up knowing what I knew then.'

Recreational times seemed to be just as fulfilling. Frank explained how there was always so much to do, and being part of nobility didn't mean he had to sit and work all day. He had a great deal of friends who all seemed to adore him (obviously - who didn't?) who got drunk together, explores themselves together, grew and learned and cried and _lived_ together. All of this caused heartache to Sprite, but the real kicker? How proud Frank was to tell her all about the superb mother figure who guided him every step of the way.

'I said my mother didn't like me much, but I don't suppose I meant that,' Frank explained. 'She just didn't like what I represented. She hated how I wouldn't get to choose what I did with my life. I could have as many hobbies as I wanted but my career would always be tied to my planet. She _really_ resented all the attention I got from others, because she knew all they really wanted was a chance to bear a noble child - thus trapping _me_ by their side in the process. My mother had the same upbringing - my farther was a mixologist when they met - and the inability to trust anyone always played havoc with her.'

Sprite began to feel ill. If he was so cherished and valued within the entire planet, what could he have possibly done to get kicked out? It must have been something outside the realms of her naive imagination.

After that story time finished, he showed her everything else that was in the box. It stored a pair of his mother's earrings, an empty perfume bottle, a copy of the scroll detailing his very first order, a _tiny_ pair of heels which must have been his first, and a plethora of adorable little mementoes. Everything had that ominous crest on it somewhere.

The last thing he showed her was another picture. This one was framed, and covered in signatures.

'Look, my darling.' Frank shifted her to hold her more comfortably in his lap. 'This is me with a group of my dearest friends on a wedding day.'

'Weddings? Sprite echoed. 'You guys get married?'

'Well, not exactly. It's very rare indeed for someone to choose one lover and _stick_ to that lover. But everyone has their favourites.' He ruffled her hair fondly. 'We wanted a way to symbolise this - we were so proud of our fellow people, you see - and we love stealing other people's customs.'

Aw, cute. Sprite pointed to a girl in the photograph. 'Is that Magenta?'

'It is. I didn't think you'd recognise her. Pretty when she was younger, wasn't she?'

The slightly grainy girl in the picture had her frizzy hair tied up in a ponytail. Her skin was the same flawless white, her eyes the same welcoming green. Struggle and turmoil had weathered her face, but she still had the same aura of kindness and protection. She was posing next to Frank, who was holding her close as the picture was taken. Perhaps they would have undergone one of these ceremonies, had things turned out differently

'That's Amethyst , she was declaring her love for Vladimir,' Frank pointed them out in turn. Turning now to the men, he went on, 'That's Quincy, Wren, Dorian and Klaude.'

'Hugo wasn't there?'

'Not this time. And here's Magenta, Orchid, Vienna and Baudelaire. Or Beaux, as we called her.' He finished, naming all the women with a small smile. Fond, nostalgic, yet full of grief. 'It was the last picture we took as a group together. They all signed it for me before Magenta and I went off exploring.'

Sprite had the biggest grin on her face. 'They look so nice.'

'They are. You'll see that when they arrive tomorrow.'

She whipped round to stare at him. 'What?'

Frank clasped her shoulders to steady her. 'The girls are coming. Just for tomorrow then they're back home the next day. I would have told you sooner but I didn't want you to ruin our time by worrying, you'd only make it worse for yourself.'

She stared, open-mouthed. 'So now I have to-?!'

'After what happened with Hugo I didn't want you to think all my people are like that. And they're all female so you'll have lots to talk about. I want you to see us for the wonderful people we are, I didn't want our reputation to you to be ruined. I want you to meet someone to be comfortable around, and who respects you in return.'

She huffed sulkily. 'I don't suppose I have a choice, do I?'

'No.' He kissed her shoulder and lifted her onto her feet. Putting everything back in the box, he said, 'I've put some textbooks out on your desk, you can make a start on them if you want. I hate to leave you like this but I really have some work to do.' He kissed her on the forehead. 'Will you stop pestering me about my life story now?'

'Yes,' she giggled. 'Thank you, Frankie, that was really nice.

He winked at her with a fond smile. 'You know where I am, just knock if you need anything. Okay?'

She nodded and he left for the laboratory. Sprite looked away until the door locked behind him.

* * *

Sprite lay wide awake in bed. Staring at the ceiling until her eyes went funny. Even the blackest of darkness could make rainbows if one looked hard enough.

She sighed, turning on her side for the umpteenth time that night, staring dismally at the empty space beside her. It was hard enough sleeping without Frank there to hold her, never mind the five snoring dogs added to the mix.

Earnie had trotted inside and jumped up on the bed. Sprite didn't have the heart to kick the little dog out, but once he got special treatment, all the other dogs wanted more attention as well. Frank wasn't too happy with it - or her, for that matter - but he'd left twenty minutes or so after turning the lights out.

She laid still with her eyes closed, as she had done all the other nights, and Frank left as soon as he thought she was sleeping. The ominous noises omitting from the laboratory weren't allowing her to settle either.

Her pillow bore the brunt of her frustrations. Four complete strangers were rocking up here tomorrow. This was supposed to be about their time, together, yet Frank had taken the steps to make it all about him, again. How dare Frank ask her not to worry! Did he not see the state Hugo left her in? The things he did, the things had made her do? Sprite was still having bad dreams about the whole thing (Frank was oblivious to that as well, of course) and she was expected to just sit back and go along with this second attempt? How dare he not tell her!

Who did they think she was? Did they even know she was here? Or would it be one of those awful scenarios where she'd have to explain herself in front of a small group of beautiful women and set her cheeks on fire in the process? One feeling surfaced above all the others: jealousy. Frank could have had any one of them, and they all would certainly want him. All four unique, quirky and beautiful, she'd stick out like a sore thumb compared to them.

Sprite kicked the covers back in defeat. All this overthinking wasn't good for her health, and the tension was making her shoulders ache again. Drinking her favourite tea always helped her sleep. More like knocked her out on the spot, but whatever.

She turned on every light on her way to the kitchen - Sprite couldn't stand the dark. Oh man, there was only enough for one more cup. A whole four days to wait before she could ask Magenta to make more. She filled the pink cup to the brim with boiling water, stirring the concoction around for a few more seconds to release all the flavour.

Sprite was carrying the drink upstairs when something grabbed her leg.

She screamed bloody murder, barely registering the china cup slicing her skin as it shattered or the scalding hot tea all down her front, because she was too preoccupied by the fucking _human hand_ clamped around her ankle.

The fingers (or what was left of them) were vice-like and ice-cold around her bones, loosening not one despite the hollering and kicking from its captor, who was utterly consumed with idiot terror. Bugs meandered through the puss-dripping cracks and infectious sores. The forearm protruding from the gap in the stairs wasn't much better off - parts of the bone were visible through the absence of skin. And the smell - the smell was something else. The fear and the foul odour caused Sprite to dry heave, fade in and out of lucidity, begin to convince herself that there was no danger as it was all a horrid dream.

A risky thing to do.

Because what Sprite should have been doing was putting all her focus on maintaining a white-knuckle grip on the bannister. Because if she let go of that bannister, she'd let go of her sanity. Let go of that bannister, and that rotting corpse would drag her under the floorboards to where it'd been hiding and eat her alive whilst greedy bugs crawled up her nose and into her eyes.

This harrowing image terrified poor Sprite even more, and with one final desperate heave she wrenched herself away from that ungodly creature. Her own half-mad hysterical shrieks masked the hisses of the other, and she didn't see the arm slithering away.

'Frank!' She screamed. 'Frankie! _Frank!'_

Frank had heard her screaming all the way from his laboratory. It startled him but he didn't address it at first, thinking she probably saw another spider or something. When all five dogs started barking, however, he decided he'd better have a look.

He opened the door just as she came flying down the corridor, drenched in tea, bleeding from multiple cuts on her body, and sobbing hysterically. She almost knocked him over with how roughly she pounced on him, and her screaming only got louder once she was in his arms.

'Fucking hell, Lessie, what is going on?!'

'There's _someone in the house!'_ She shrilled. 'Something _grabbed_ my leg, this _person_ under the _stairs_ and it was all mouldy and decrepit it was _disgusting!'_

'Okay, alright, shh-shh-shh.' Frank hoisted her to his waist and massaged her hair, his little one still delirious. Her entire body trembled. He crooned nonsensical noises, soothing sounds, encouraged her to breathe normally in order to calm her. 'Deep breaths, little mouse, that's it. In... and out, in... and out. That's a good girl, try and stop crying now...'

It took a while - almost ten minutes - but eventually she cooled down. She faded into silence, not loosening her grip on Frank.

'There we go, easy now...' Frank soothed. 'See? You're okay. Nothing's going to hurt you while I'm here.'

'Frankie, I swear there's a dead person living under the stairs-.'

'Okay, then let's go and look together.'

Frank manoeuvred her to cling to his back. She wouldn't dare let go now, and was still shaking too severely to walk. She curled into him even tighter, whimpering into his shoulder when they got to the stairs.

'It's alright, little one. Now what exactly did you see?'

'A hand.' She stifled a sob. 'A mouldy, rotting hand shot straight up through that hole in the stairs, and it grabbed my ankle. Frank, there's something hiding under the stairs and it tried to kill me.'

 _A little dramatic, my darling?_

The old wood had finally given way. That staircase had been rotting for months now - he remembered warning Lessie not to step on it minutes before her first affair. She had done brilliantly that night, dear child. But the only thing under that was a cupboard - and under that was the private room. He opened the door for Lessie to see - nothing inside. All the useless shit they'd been collecting had finally been cleared out. Frank patiently explained to his troubled little mouse that had anyone been laying in wait under the stairs, they'd still be there now.

'They could've crept out, could've opened the door and-.'

'Then the dogs would have chased it,' Frank reasoned with her. 'They are specially trained protection dogs, if an intruder was in this house, those dogs would have attacked.' They looked completely docile now, all five of them. Stretching. Yawning. Pissed off at being woken up so rudely for nothing.

She whimpered. 'You don't believe me, do you?'

'I _do_ believe you, my darling.' He didn't. 'But whatever it was, it's gone now.' Frank squeezed her hand. 'Come on, its late. Let's get you back into bed.'

Frank shifted her (he hoped this would be the last time) onto his hip and carried her back up the stairs. Only then did he realise her nightclothes were still drenched - her throat was raw, skin blotchy, eyes wet and irritated. 'Look at you, poor little lamb,' he simpered, lowering her down on to the bed. He set about carefully re-dressing her in clean clothes, brushing the dry, stiff tangles out of her hair, gliding a soothing balm across her irritated skin and having her drink warm milk, after the last of the tea ended up soaking the floor downstairs.

Maybe it was his gentle touch, the relief of the nightmare finally being over, or the numb adrenaline giving way to the sensation of severely burnt skin, but she began to cry again.

'Hey, little one, its okay...' Frank climbed into the bed beside her and gathered her up close. Pitiful, tiny sobs shook her whole body. 'Shhhh-shh-shh-shh. Brave girl, it's all over now. Don't cry now, mousy, Frankie's here...'

'It just felt so _real_...' her little voice was all raspy, and strained. 'It doesn't make any sense. I was there, I saw it happen, that thing grabbed my leg I can still feel the damp-.' She urged. Frank tried to stop her but she didn't listen. He massaged her back and stroked her hair. Calmed her with soothing kisses. For the moment that was all he could do. 'And now there's nothing there,' she finished on a dull note. She curled into him tighter than ever, hiding her face in his chest. 'Frankie...' she stifled a sob. 'Frankie, have I gone mad?'

Frank tutted his disapproval. 'Don't be so silly, darling, of course you haven't gone mad. There only room for one lunatic in this house.' She giggled rather hysterically. 'You've been under a lot of stress. Seen a lot of harrowing things. Had to deal with things no person should even have to think about, and all this time you haven't really had anyone to talk to, have you?' She shook her head. 'You've stored it all inside your own mind, and now it's playing tricks on you. Perhaps you had a night terror, and didn't even know you were sleeping?'

'But I went all the way down to the kitchen,' she stressed. 'How could I make a cup of tea if I was asleep?'

'I've known people to get themselves dressed and go outside during this sleepwalking. It's more common than you might think.' He smoothed some hair from her face. She was beginning to consider it. 'You spilt the tea, the scalding water woke you up, you understandably got very scared and confused, and ran to find me.'

She laid her head on his chest. 'Maybe,' she whispered, 'but whatever. I just want to forget about it.'

'Alright then, darling. Shall I sing to you?'

* * *

It took a lot more than bloody singing. A dim light left on, head massages and back tickles, calming lavender permeating the air from a heated bowl in the corner and he still had to resort to codeine just so she would shut the fuck up.

Ah well. More important things to think about now.

As even in the darkest of nights the promise of dawn beckons, Frank found himself rocketing about the house like a child on Christmas morning. Just _giddy_ with excitement.

He hadn't properly seen any of his girls for a little over two years, and now that all _four_ were coming at once... oh, it was just marvellous.

He couldn't wait to see his little mouse interact with them - and how that result might turn out. He'd chosen to invite those four, not only because they were amongst his dearest friends, but because they were excellent role models with an abundance of maternal instinct. Sweet Lessie yearned to be taken care of, and the girls would be just besotted with her. The mix of such strong personalities was bound to be entertaining.

Amethyst was the firework, with quick wit and even sharper tongue, and quite the intimidating appearance. She'd teach you how to win at poker and fight your corner until even the most dictatorial of figures backed away cowering. But with such a big heart, and anyone who tried to torment her loved ones would get exactly what was coming to them. No one was allowed to pick on her cherubs but her.

Orchid had earned her title as the oracle, who knew everything there was to know about everything that actually mattered. Buckets of wisdom and one too many embarrassing stories to tell. She could bail you out of it if she ever got you into it (Frank had lost count himself, everyone knew it was a bad idea to wander off with her) but always helping you discover things about yourself, and pushing you to try new things. Even if it meant coming home with your eyesight ruined or a stray goat in the backseat.

Vienna whom everyone called the void - absent most of the time but there to pull you in when you least expect it. She had quite mastered the art of being alone, and spent hours soul-searching and self-healing, so that she became the most fine-tuned and chilled out person, perhaps that their ever was. However all that knowledge of herself led to excessive knowledge of everyone else. She thrived on the company of others. She knew how to suck every last drop out of you - and for you to reap the same rewards out of her.

And Beaux. Dear, sweet little Baudelaire. The dreamer. She never quite grasped the full understand of what was going on, but she didn't really care. She floated around being sort of happy with the way everything unfolded, and that permanent (if delusional) sense of peace and happiness made the world seem just that little bit lighter. The most Baudelaire thing she ever said was: 'There's always something to look forward to. Even if it's just lunch.'

Magenta fitted perfectly into this dynamic as the visionary. She had dreams bigger than anyone could've imagined, and she wanted everyone to find their passion. She cut people wide open, she wanted to know what you desired, what you ached for, what made your heart sigh. The drive, determination and willingness to help others achieve their potential was brilliant for morale - but sometime she would go too far. Work too hard. And drag the others down with her.

Had Lessie grown up a part of this group (oh _how_ he wished thing could have been so!), what would she have been? The thinker? The artist? The juvenile?

No. No, none of these. Frank's own greatest accomplishment would be the giver. Of hope. Trust. Beauty. Frustration. Support. Pleasure. Future, reasons, purpose. Body, mind, soul.

And when the day came, that brave, heroic, ignorant girl would give her life.

It is better to give than to receive - unless you don't receive enough. And if you're giving to the world, well. The world doesn't own you a thing.

Frank's little one would not wake up for another three hours. Come ten o'clock, she would rise to a bustling house. Of course these things didn't happen by coincidence - Frank planned everything, so neither would Lessie be conscious for their imminent arrival, nor would Frank be pressed for time to explain his current situation.

Perhaps most importantly, he'd given himself time to prepare. Imagine trying to sort everything out while a whining little mouse followed him around everywhere in the background. Unbearable.

None of the girls had ever left their planet before, and seeing as it was not only Frank's duty but Frank's god-given talent to make anyone feel completely at ease (for better or worse - from the guest's perspective), the house would need a slight makeover.

Transsexual wasn't called the Land of Night for nothing. The sky was always dark, the air was always cold. The stars always mesmerising. However the inhabitants of this most beloved planet made up for the doom and gloom with brightly coloured outfits, loud colours painted on the streets and all manner of lanterns, fairy lights, neon signs and fireworks strung up everywhere to contrast the darkness.

The castle needed to be much cooler, therefore no lit fires today. The place also had to be darker, which meant only the smallest of lights were to be used. Big ceiling chandeliers used to illuminate entire rooms would be but spectacular decoration. He'd have to go hunting, and dig out the old wall lanterns if he could remember where they were - add that fantastic powder to the orange flames to transform them into works of technicolour if possible. Columbia has brought it back from a festival once. Mystical Fire, if Frank's memory served him correctly. Rugs stripped from the stone floors, suede furniture swapped with leather, Columbia's cartoonish memorabilia to be hidden and replaced with more taxidermy, and he finally had an excuse to dig out that fabulous suit of armour. It came with a sword and shield and everything, with replicas of the royal crest dotted about subtly. It used to take pride of place in the foyer, but Magenta finally put her foot down, declaring it to be ridiculous and overly-fanciful. Columbia claimed to be scared of it.

And the phone. He had to remember to unplug that.

Magenta had worked overtime in the days leading up to her departure to prepare and freeze enough meals for the two of them. However with the hosting demands of tonight, dear Lessie might have to go hungry for a few days.

Frank hadn't the slightest clue what to serve them. They'd never eaten any of this food before. No pasta, no roasted meats, no salads, and certainly no cheese without mould. The very idea was blasphemy in itself. Transylvanians were very partial to their spicy food (anything with an intense sensation guaranteed success), so perhaps one of those curry dishes would go down well. Although to mix coriander, cumin and turmeric together and call it spice was simply moronic. They'd want to try Dorian's cooking, _then_ they would have spicy food. Frank couldn't remember the name of the confection he chose for desert, but it meant he could suck sweet cream and sticky jam from a soft lady finger. What's not to like?

The stairs creaked under his weight as Frank set about gathering everything else. He quickly compiled a list of everything they needed doing, and had quite badly estimated the amount of tasks to complete and the length of time in which to complete them in.

The lovely girls would appreciate his hospitality regardless of the effort he put in, Frank knew that. But he wanted this to go well not just for them but for Lessie. He so desperately wanted to make this little slice of Transsexual, Transylvania to be as authentic as possible. Then he could prove to her that their home was a wonderful one, and the people even better. She could be amongst his kind without fear, genuinely want to be around them, and feel safer on the moon-drenched shores of his beloved planet than she ever did on her own.

Frank's monster-sized project had encountered a surge of productivity in the last few months. Things were rocketing along as a much faster pace than the first time around, and he even dared say less than a year would pass before he finally got to look into those cognitive blue eyes. He needed to do this now, before time ran out. She needed to acclimatise and adjust through trials and practise-runs.

How could she fulfil her purpose if she remained unprepared for a new home?

 _Now_ ,' he thought with a sudden surge of pride, _how to retrieve that suit of armour without making too much noise?_

* * *

Frank's busy footfalls roused Sprite from her slumber. Persistent heels, _clack-clack-clack_ on the rich wooden floor, creating a picture in her mind of his restless facial expression and compulsive muttering to himself clearer than if she had been standing right in front of him. He was making a lot of noise out there. What on Earth was he doing? All that banging, scraping, creaking, one would think he was barricading for a tornado.

She was still quite tired, and thought about laying back down and waiting for Frank's preparations to be done. But now she had awoken she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, and sitting her overthinking everything would surely be an unhealthy start to the day.

Something scraped at the door.

 _Oh my god_ , she thought, _it's that fucking thing from last night I knew it was real and now I'm going to die and Frank is going to feel really bad-._

It scraped again. Louder, more instant. A strange noise came with it. Grunting, almost.

 _Just go to the door, Sprite. If it isn't a half-dead zombie thing then you live another day, and if it is, then you don't have to deal with this gathering today. Win-win_.

She unlatched the door with shaking hands. Frank had stopped moving about, he was too far away to hear now. Her fingers closed around the doorknob. No other noises yet. Maybe that was because it was standing outside with its hand on the doorknob, pressing its mangled ear to the door in the same way Sprite did now. Maybe it was waiting for her to open the door so it could dine on her flesh.

Noise, unexpected and loud. She jumped out of her skin, heart banging inside her rib cage. Chest and shoulders were hurting now, that honestly scared her half to death. But it sounded like... was that... a dog barking?

She opened the door to find the pug sitting there.

'Oh, Earnie!' She exclaimed, flooding with relief. The tiny little dog wagged his tail. looking up at her with those huge glossy eyes. He was so cute she couldn't stand it. She bent down to pick him up, and carried him back into the room. 'You scared me! What were you doing out there all by yourself? Hmm?' The dog sat quite comfortably in her lap, panting in that way that always made him look like he was smiling. 'You missing your mummy? She didn't take you with her, did she?' He started licking all over her face. 'Oh but that's okay you can give me as many kisses as you like...'

'Excuse me.' Frank was standing in the doorway. 'What are you doing up?'

She blinked. 'What do you mean?' She frowned. The girl should not be aware and lucid yet - but of course she didn't realise that. It was hard for Frank to take the irritating result seriously with that thing on her shoulder.

'No reason, he responded, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, 'I didn't think you'd be that keen to get started today, that's all.'

'Well, I wasn't. I'm not,' she admitted. Lifting the dog in the air again, she cooed, 'But this handsome boy wanted a cuddle, didn't you? Yes and your such a good boy!' She stuck her tongue out at Frank laughing at her. He pulled a face right back and she laughed. 'I think he misses Columbia. Maybe he needs a brother.'

It still baffled Frank how strongly she affected him. The way she looked up at him now with that butter wouldn't melt expression, a twinkle of mischief in those big blue eyes, it set about a feeling he'd never quite felt before. The sensation did something to his insides, almost made him forget what he was talking about. If he were the romantic type, he would say he swooned.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. 'Yeah, right. In your dreams.' Poor Earnie was pushed off the bed and sent trotting away to find his friends. Sprite would have whined at him had he not began instructing her first. 'Now, since you're awake, you can either help me get the house ready, or you can stay in here and make yourself look presentable.'

 _Well, fuck you. My bedhead isn't that bad._

* * *

She lied.

Sprite did pull out an outfit she planned to wear (a navy button down playsuit, the colour suited her hair very well, showed a lot of leg and the soft material soothed her sensitive skin) but chucked it on her bed rather than donning it. She didn't choose to wash her face or step into the shower first. She stole out of the house as soon Frank began rushing around again - he'd never hear her in that mindset.

She half-ran, scared that Frank would spot her from the window and beat her into the beginning of next week, until she was safely concealed within the undergrowth. Her pulse began to slow. Now she could retrace her steps.

Sprite remembered the incident like it was yesterday. It wasn't a _choice_ to run away the first time - Hugo forewarned her of Magenta's knowledge about her sibling. ' _Knowing there's another part of you that she can't protect is killing her. She wants your help to intervene so you must get out before she finds you_.' It was a stupid thing to believe and an even stupider thing to do, but she didn't trust him. She had to leave whether Hugo was being truthful or not because it was what Hugo wanted, and disobeying that might make the discovery real after all.

She hadn't planned on going far - just hiding until someone found her, perhaps disgruntling herself for a more believable performance - but then she found this clearing. The one she stood in right now, with the cushioned swinging bench, the floral arch, the marble birdbath, the elegant statues. The serene, tranquil space that would have remained hidden had she not brushed past the vines and found nothing on the other side. The natural corridor led her here - but it seemed she was not the first.

Another had found peace here before her. Another had wound fairy-lights around the head of the bench - solar lights, so they'd work in the dark and envelope them in a sea of stars. Another had hung crystal-carved creatures from the birdbath - fairies, bees, dolphins, dragonflies. All in different colours and each slicing rays of sunlight into thousands of pocket-sized rainbows. Another had settled into the routine of taking a nap or perhaps spent every night here on this seat - a small, dry alcove occurring by stone contained thick blankets, firm pillows, even an eye-mask or two in there. Both fashioned from white silk with a lace trim. One had the crude phrase ' _fuck off_ ' stitched into it in perfect cursive, while the other displayed a simple ' _Zzzzz_ ' accented with stars and clouds.

Upon discovering this little sanctuary, Sprite felt like she'd found the Garden of Eden, without any snakes, rotten apples and certainly no other people - _gross_ \- to ruin her time. She simply sat there and waited until Riff Raff came and found her. Somehow she knew it would be him. Somber and silent as always, he merely helped her up and walked her back to the house. But not before, carefully out of earshot and sight of the castle before them, saying something that oddly stuck with her.

'If you want to come back here again,' he suggested in that nasally upper-class tone of his, 'I implore you to wait until there's no one available to find you.'

It didn't make any sense at first, but now, standing here again in her nightwear, it all became clear.

Riff wanted her to come back. He hadn't known Sprite would find this place but once she did, Riff wanted her to find it again, and not just for a few minutes, to _be_ there. Without even seeing her leave, somehow Riff knew to check there first. Once his (however farfetched) intuition had been correct, he had instructed her, in not so many words, to visit again. She didn't succeed the further two times she tried. The third time she didn't even make it off the front porch. So, taking Riff's cryptic advice, she decided to wait.

Hugo had gone. The others were sent away. For a while it was just her and Frank but now that this reunion was underway Frank was too preoccupied to pay her any attention.

Had Riff Raff known this would happen? Had he been forewarned about Frank sending them away, or was he simply crossing his fingers and hoping for a coincidence?

 _'Wait until there's no one available to find you.'_

Well, unless there was some giant warning sign she could not see, Sprite put her thinking cap on and began searching. For she had done enough waiting.

* * *

'Oh, holy shit, why is it so dark in here?'

Sprite almost blinded herself strolling back in the door, and cried out to thin air. Frank's audible footsteps still creaked around upstairs. Her intuition proved to be correct - he hadn't even noticed she'd gone.

It was clear he'd worked hard. The whole place was transformed, looking more medieval and gothic than ever. One would be forgiven for thinking actual vampires lived here. Any trace of humans having stepped over the threshold had been completely eradicated - apart from the one standing in the middle of the gloomy room, but whatever.

Impressing Frank's friends was important to him, Sprite understood that. But if he was going to prioritise that above all else and push her to one side, well - she was just going to have to distract him.

She jogged up the stairs, eager to put more layers on to keep out the cold. Her immediate choice would have been a cozy jumper and thick leggings, but she would never get away with that. She represented Frank's work now. She had to make an impression.

Aside from the aforementioned oversized, cozy articles that were only really supposed to be worn to bed, everything in her wardrobe served to please Frank. A simple jeans and a t-shirt kind of day didn't exist anymore. All the tops were either cropped, off-the-shoulder or sheer. Corsets came in all shapes and colours, but she had yet to wear one on a normal day. Trouser material consisted of shiny leather, velvet, ripped denim or the classic fishnet stockings and garter belt. If it was a hot day and she wanted to keep cool, it was mini skirts, hot pants or nothing. Dresses were either backless, strapless or sleeveless, and never came below the knee. These came in either pastel shades with lacy patterns or rich, dark leather with sweetheart necklines. Sprite selected one of these in a deep black colour, hanging up her navy playsuit for another day. Peter Pan collared playsuits completed the plentiful ensemble - there was not enough time to delve in to the underwear.

She draped her pink silk robe with a blue oriental dragon on the back (she had a matching one with Frank, except his was black and the dragon, gold) over a chair, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper from her lingerie. A souvenir she had found in the clearing, almost wet herself in disbelief, and shoved it down her top before anyone caught her.

She hadn't known what she was looking for at first. Riff might have been throwing her off the scent by sending her here. He might only have been encouraging her to come here when she felt overwhelmed. He might have been trying to get rid of her by setting a booby trap for next time she came. Sprite was aware of all of these things. However she didn't let that stop her. The situation she found herself in was too coincidental to ignore. It seemed she was meant to be there. And she hardly expected to find _Juniper was here_ scrawled on to the bench, but she had faith in herself to find something.

And find she did.

It came about through a passing fancy of taking a nap while she had the time, which led her to reach into the little alcove storing the blankets and sleeping masks. She shrieked when she felt the box, a sound that kind of ripped itself out of her, and tore it open like a wild animal. There was nothing special about this box - no label, no name, no design stitched on the lid. And the object inside seemed rather unnoteworthy too - a singular page of sheet music.

Now, Sprite knew nothing about sheet music. She could not read it, nor could she understand a single aspect of it. But the quality of this piece seemed to be taking the piss.

The pencil lead of the handwritten dots and lines were so faded they were hardly there at all. The piece had not been titled, nor had a composer been credited. The song only filled one page, but the length, tempo, melody and complexity remained a mystery to Sprite.

After that enlightening conversation yesterday, Sprite knew the only way to find out more - if there was any more to find out, that is - was to have Frank play it.

And with him dashing around, muttering to himself, barking orders at thin air like the Queen was coming for tea, that did not seem feasible at all.

Sprite put it out of her mind for now, stepping into the bathroom to begin her daily routine. She was half way through applying her so-called 'sophisticated' makeup when the phone rang.

The sound was foreign to her at first. That phone never rang. Sprite had not known it was there until they used it to send Hugo away. Who on earth could be-?

She gasped out loud. Maybe it was Magenta calling them! Perhaps she was on the other side, waiting to tell Sprite about all her adventures? She flew down the stairs, ready to pounce on it and finally hear Magenta's kind voice. It had been so _long_ and she'd missed her so _much_ , she couldn't wait to-.

' _Don't you touch that phone!_ '

Sprite's body went tumbling out of Frank's way before she could even scream. He sprinted up behind her, seemingly out of nowhere, and shoved her into her far wall just before her fingers closed around the phone to answer it. She bashed her head on the unforgiving stone walls and sat down on the floor in a heap. Scared, bewildered, and not a clue what just happened.

The ringing in her ears prevented her from hearing Frank's words even if she could understand the language. Corseted back facing her, left hip dropped, black curly head down, angled away from her quivering form somewhat abrasively. That mesmerising alien tongue sounded worse in long sentences. She couldn't decipher the topic nor tone of the conversation - the only coherent aspect came when Frank took the receiver away from his ear, meaning they had said goodbye.

She got up and ran. She was not going to entertain him after flinging her like that.

'Lessie! Lessie, come back darling, I didn't mean to frighten you,' he followed her up the stairs, voice oozing with concern and guilt. 'Please, mousy, it was an accident, I only-.' He scoffed at her bedroom door slammed in his face. The lock clicked, but they both knew he could easily break the door down if it came to that.

'You didn't have to shout at me like that!' She said, her own voice thick and uneven with tears. 'And shoving me into the wall, that really hurt!'

'I didn't _want_ to hurt you, my lamb, but it was for your own good. You know how dangerous other people can be. Anybody could have been on the other side, what were you thinking?'

'I thought -.' Her voice cracked, feeling more childish than ever. 'I thought maybe it was Magenta calling us.'

A deep sigh followed. 'Darling...' Frank cooed, 'are you missing her?' She said she was. 'Well if you come out we can talk about this, and... perhaps contact her tomorrow evening?'

Tomorrow evening was ages away, but Sprite couldn't stay in here much longer without Frank getting angry. So, she stepped sheepishly out of the room and let Frank embrace her, nuzzling into his chest despite the rough surface of his shimmery corset.

'Forgive me, my love, I didn't mean to make you cry. I can't bear to see you upset, and you can't ruin your lovely makeup! Oh look, you've only got one eyebrow on.'

She laughed as he titled her chin up, gently wiping away the last of her tears without smudging the dark product on her eyes. Frank pretended to apologise a little more, checking her head and simpering over his favourite little one.

She quietly explained the phone call interrupted her makeup routine, then Frank dragged her back to her room by the hand to help her finish getting ready.

'Look at you, getting all fancy!' Remarked Frank, stroking the dress she'd hung up on her wardrobe door. 'I'll find you some accessories, shall I?' Frank asked the question whilst already searching through her drawers and jewellery boxes. Sprite had been concentrating on drawing on her right eyebrow so hadn't really been paying attention. She turned around to see a pair of large pentagonal silver earrings, a silver ring adorned with a huge onyx stone encircled by sparkly diamonds, and a matching statement necklace. The stones were carved to resemble flowers. Frank wanted to dress her up like a doll tonight.

'Okay, I was worried that dress would be too much but now I feel differently,' she commented. 'I'm not going to be able to move with all of that jewellery on.'

'Worry not, darling, you'll look fabulous,' Frank declared, stepping behind her to clasp the ostentatious necklace. He advised her to add volume to the shirt with a black petticoat, and tossed one on to her bed.

'Do you still have your bracelet, flower?'

Pulling the undergarment up to her waist, she responded, 'Yes, it's in the top drawer. Inside a little rectangular-shaped thing.'

The sound of the friction came first, then a pause. Then, a slightly bewildered (an extreme rarity for Frank, she might as well start running now), 'Little mouse, what on Earth is this?'

She turned, fastening an earring, to see Frank holding the piece of sheet music in his hand.

'That?' She squeaked. 'Oh that, that's... I- I wrote that.'

Frank cocked an eyebrow at her blatant lie. 'You wrote this?'

'Mm-hmm.' She hope her face wasn't as red as it felt. She went on to explain that after hearing of Frank's pianist skills, she decided to write him something, after studying music at school. Another huge lie. 'It's quite faded because I started to erase it - I didn't think it was any good.'

'Well I do!' Frank frowned at the composition with a sense of vague impression. 'You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, little mouse, and it's such a thoughtful gift. Thank you, flower.'

His eyes lit up as if he had an idea, then grabbed a pen and scrawled something on the page. Sprite took it from Frank's outstretched hand to see it had been titled.

 _A Sky Full of Flowers._ Hmm.

Sprite cursed when the doorbell rang.

Frank lit up, his face the picture of excitement. He quickly knelt down in front of her, to soothe her before he let the women in.

'Listen, my lamb, Frank began, adjusting her hair and smoothing down her clothes, 'I'm going to invite them in now. You don't have to come down immediately, you can stay in here until I've settled them, but when I ask you to follow me downstairs, you _do it_ , okay?'

'Mmm.' She hung her head, nervously toying with the hem of her dress. 'Fine.'

'Lessie, they aren't going to _hurt_ you-.'

'You said that last time.'

'Now you listen to me,' Frank employed his stern disciplinarian voice, holding her a little tighter. 'Hugo was... a mistake. He fooled us all, even Riff Raff never saw it coming. And I will do everything in my power to ensure you _never_ have to go through anything like that again. My people, we're not like that - one bad apple doesn't make the whole batch rotten, or wherever it is you say. Let me prove that to you.'

The bell sounded again.

'You should answer the door,' she whispered.

'You've been upset with me, haven't you?' Frank squeezed her shoulders. For pushing you to one side?'

She huffed guiltily, murmuring, 'No'.

'Well, you're right,' he continued. 'I could have had any one of them. I still have free reign now, I could pick anyone I want and they'd follow me to my bed without question.' Tapping her on the nose with each syllable, he concluded, 'But _I chose you_.' He smothered a kiss to her forehead. Standing up, he instructed, 'Now please behave, and I'll come and get you in a few moments.' He flashes a winning smile and slipped out of the room, waiting until he was far enough away to sprint down the stairs like an excited child.

Wrapping his fingers around the cool door handle, suddenly Frank got a bit nervous. What if they had changed during their long hiatus? What if they weren't impressed, and left telling everyone what a terrible host he'd become? Worst of all, what if Lessie refused to comply and stated cowering in her room, rendering the whole operation useless and soiling his respectable reputation in the process?

He heaved the groaning door back to reveal the three - three? Where was vivacious Amethyst? - women he knew so well. Vienna with the body-painted bare feet and highlighter-yellow cornrows. Orchid dressed entirely head to toe in her namesake colour of pink, from the entire heist worth of jewellery to her even-brighter pink mohawk. And Baudelaire, who had worn a flowing ombré piece of sheer lilac for the occasion, showing her entirely uncovered figure underneath. She had swept her cosmic blue hair into loose plaits that hung to her waist, and was stroking and smiling at the gargoyle when Frank looked at her.

This mental re-introduction lasted all but three seconds - then they stared screaming.

All three girls dived at him at once, almost knocking him flat over the threshold. They squealed and laughed, Frank desperately trying to hold three ecstatic girls under two arms, whilst being attacked with fierce hugs and firm kisses.

He managed to properly greet Orchid first, after everyone had calmed down. He could hear the other two laughing at them while they squeezed the life out of each other. He did the same to Vienna and Baudelaire, then asked the most obvious question.

 **Hello hello, quick note from Alma here. From now on everything written in italics is spoken in this Transylvanian dialect, because I'm not Tolkien and I can't invent a whole other language. Happy reading!**

' _Where's Amethyst?_ '

' _Oh I_ _ **knew**_ _it wouldn't get to you on time!_ ' Orchid sighed. ' _She can't come. She was devastated but she has some - things to sort out. She sends her love, however, and is really happy for you that you have... someone.'_

Ah. Well that would have been Lessie. He skirted around the subject in his letter, and they seemed elated with the idea. Even now he could sense their excitement at meeting his little pet.

' _But_ ,' Orchid continued, ' _that doesn't mean to say we're the only ones coming here today_.'

He frowned suspiciously. ' _What do you mean?'_

' _Oh nothing_.' Vienna had joined in now, smirking at him with a delightful glint of mischief in her green eyes. ' _We're not hiding anything, right Beaux?'_

The whimsical one shook her head with a huge grin on her face. Beaux was never able to keep a secret, especially if it excited her. Considering how much she adored Frank, he could get around her in no time.

Frank changed the subject, inviting them to take a seat and make themselves comfortable. They complimented the decor, asked after Magenta and Riff Raff, and tossed around a few stories of their own which had happened while they had been separated.

It didn't take long for Baudelaire to settle into his lap.

' _Aw, she won't let you go now_ ,' laughed Vienna, ' _that's_ _ **all**_ _she's been talking about_.' Frank chuckled, kissing Beaux's hair. ' _Driving us crazy, wasn't she Orchid? When are we going to see Frankie, can we see Frankie today, I'm so excited to go and see Frankie!'_

Frank whispered, ' _What are they hiding from me, precious? Hmm?'_

She giggled. ' _Nothing_.'

Frank raised an eyebrow and her smile widened. Her grip tightened even further around his neck, hiding away in his shoulder the way Lessie always did. The resemblance between the two were uncanny. He had to figure out a way to integrate her into the conservation without leaving it too late. He'd wait a little while longer, he decided, and the next natural lull in the noise would call for her introduction.

He phased back into the conversation to Vienna and Orchid laughing.

' _That was not me, it was totally Hugo's fault for-!_ ' She stopped mid-way through the humorous tale, a look of awful recollection dawning on her face. ' _Oh my god, I heard what happened_!' By now both other girls had remembered and were listening intently as well. ' _How the fuck did that come about?'_

Frank cleared his throat. ' _You heard_?'

' _Well... not exactly_ ,' Orchid went on through her unease. ' _We were all so jealous he got to stay with you, and then one day we had a court official crash our sleepover and tell us that we'd never see Hugo again.'_

' _What did they tell you?_ '

' _That he'd committed a crime. We heard that you ordered to have him taken away, so we knew it must have been outrageous_.' Orchid smiled sympathetically. ' _You too love each other, didn't you?'_

Frank nodded. He looked around the room to find all the girls giving him looks of sympathy. Oh fuck he couldn't get upset in front of them, not when he had Lessie to care for as well...

' _Look_ ,' Frank's voice was hard as stone, ' _if I tell you this now, it stays strictly between us four and the walls. Understand?'_

Darkly excited nods all round. Little Beaux was squeezing onto his hand.

Frank took a deep breath, and explained everything. It was a long story, he almost broke down a few times, but he managed it. By the end, everyone had tears either sparkling in their eyes or trickling form their cheeks.

' _Oh my god_...' Baudelaire's voice wobbled. ' _Hugo did that?_ _ **Our**_ _Hugo?'_

' _Oh, I'm afraid so, sweetheart_ ,' 'Frank sighed. ' _Betrayed us all. I just... I should have notice something was wrong, I should have seen it coming_!'

' _Hey, Frank, don't do that_ ,' Vienna scolded. ' _No one would have expected that from Hugo, it wasn't your fault.'_ She reached over and patted his knee comfortingly. ' _So the girl_ ,' she said in an attempt to brighten the mood, ' _is she still here?'_

' _Yes, she's upstairs. She got all dressed up, she's so excited to meet all of you_.' That was a small white lie. ' _I think I want to keep her.'_

All their eyebrows shot up.

' _That's a big step, Frank_ ,' warned Vienna. ' _Besides taking her from her whole life, you'd have to go through checks, assessments, quarantine, court trials-.'_

' _I know that_ ,' Frank interrupted rather defensively. ' _I'm prepared_. _Would you like to meet her?_ ' They were elated to do so. ' _Excuse me, Beaux, I'm sorry darling_...' he shifted Baudelaire onto the seat next to him and stood up to collect his little mouse. Beaux, he saw, had gone to sit with Orchid instead.

 _Oh, Lord_ , he thought to himself, _please let this go well._

He opened the door to find Lessie standing (albeit, anxiously) to full attention.

Her dear face scrunched. 'Do I have to go now? Can't you just wait a few-?'

'Mm-mmm. No chance, you heard what I said.' Frank used a firm hand to escort her towards the stairs. 'You have to learn one way or another, you'll never get anywhere if you don't.'

Sprite more or less held it together until the three girls came into view.

'Oh no, I can't, I can't,' she squealed whilst trying to run away.

Wrestling her away from him, he called, 'Lessie's here!'

She glared at him and he glared right back.

'Oh, come on through then, darling, we don't bite,' Orchid said.

'Much,' snickered Vienna.

* * *

 **I really had no idea where to end this but it was getting really long. Hopefully the ending wasn't too abrupt.**

 **In other news, I'm going to a Rocky Horror screening tomorrow! I'm so excited! Woo! Can't wait to see everyone dressed up, it's going to be so much fun!**

 **Alma Oakley**


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Phew! Hello everyone, I hope you haven't forgotten me!**

 **First of all, I'd like to begin with a sincere apology - it has never taken me this lonbg to write a new chapter before! With west-end shows, trips to Disneyland, nineteenth birthdays, tribute bands, a new job and general life to be planning I have been a very busy Alma.**

 **But we're here now and I'd like to set a host of updating twice a month. At least until going's calm down a bit lmao.**

 **My usual reviewers know who they are (thank you!) and again to my quiet readers - who keep their thoughts to themselves but pop up on my traffic graph. Big love.**

* * *

Sprite's body felt too heavy for her head as Frank ushered her into the living room. As if sitting in a space with three (alien!) strangers wasn't enough, the house was also too dark and the temperature of a fucking igloo. She would go flying in these conditions, Sprite was certain of that.

As her eyes adjusted, the one with the dark skin and crazy pink hair opened her arms for her first.

'Come and sit with me, love bug, I'll look after you.' She flashed a gleaming white smile as she helped make room for Sprite on the loveseat and wrapped her arms around her. Her bright pink leather clothing creaked as she moved about, and the texture left goosebumps on Sprite's skin. 'I'm Orchid, this is Vienna,' Sprite nervously accepted the warm handshake, 'and that's Beaux.'

Beaux who Sprite glared at for sitting on Frank's lap. She wouldn't have even realised had Frank not sent her a warning glance in return.

'And what's your name, honey? Frank was telling us all about how excited you were, getting all dolled up for us! I must say you are _so_ pretty, no wonder Frank's so taken with you, I would-.'

'Alright, dear,' Frank chuckled, 'let her talk.

Orchid apologised with a sheepish grin.

They were all staring at Sprite expectantly, and even her name was too complicated for a straight answer.

She inhaled, already blushing. Frank gave her a discreet nod of encouragement. 'My real name is Celeste - but nobody calls me that. My friends call me Sprite, Frank tends to call me Lessie. Magenta and Columbia have their own nicknames for me. And everyone else, well... you can call me whatever you want as long as it's not-.' _Oh fuck I almost said it again_. 'You can call me whatever you want,' she concluded.

'You've got such a lovely name!' Festival-aesthetic Vienna spoke this time. 'So pretty, and it really suits you! I'll call you Sprite, I think. Totally not jealous that you're named after a fairy or anything...'

'You're young, are you not?' Beaux had a very pleasant, delicate voice. 'I'm assuming _Frank_ captivated _you_. He wouldn't allow a mere child to be separated from their family, no matter how much he loved you.'

Judging by the guilty looks floating around the room, angelic Beaux had the rather naive attitude to Frank's behaviour. Much like Sprite herself, Beaux had been lied to and condescended to remain by Frank's side. Beaux, however, had believed it.

There she was, cuddled up in Frank's arms with not a care in the world. Was it possible that Beaux knew _nothing_ of Frank's deadly temperament?

Sprite watched, heart thumping, as Frank tapped Beaux firmly on her shoulder, murmuring a scold of some sort to her in their own language. What was said, Sprite didn't know, but Beaux hung her head with heavily flushed cheeks while the others looked on with sympathy.

'Did you tell her off?' Sprite asked nervously. 'Because it's okay, it doesn't matter-.'

'No, Baudelaire knows about these things, don't you? Hmm?' He swept her glossy sheen of blue-black hair over to one side, exposing the symbolic birthmark which was common with everyone else in the room. But something about it looked... different. Sprite couldn't place exactly what, but something seemed off.

Frank whispered another phrase in Transylvanian to which she stood up, the silky material wafting about her sylph-like figure, and glided her way over to Vienna. She in turn then began comforting Baudelaire, crooning something to her and petting her hair.

'Don't forget, Frank,' Orchid's voice was delightfully deep and raspy in comparison to the delicate sweetness of Baudelaire. 'You promised us a concert.'

'A con-? Oh yes, I suppose I did, didn't I?' Frank tutted, rolling his eyes playfully. 'I'm bound to be terrible! I haven't played since-!'

Orchid cut him off with a word Sprite didn't understand but was clearly a swear word. If it weren't for the seething conviction with which the curse was delivered, it was Frank's reaction that confirmed it. It reminded Sprite very much of the time she'd accidentally dropped the C-bomb in front of him (could that really have been just a few months ago?) and Orchid mirrored Sprite perfectly. Bent over, laughing like a hyena, it soon turned to pterodactyl shrieking when Frank pounced on her and mercilessly tickled her.

Frank and Sprite has play fights like these all the time, but she felt glad Orchid was on the receiving end this time. Frank tended to throw her around like a rag doll when he was in this mood, and with her strength in this condition (not sleeping nor eating, although the latter was her own fault) she was more than happy to watch.

Frank had Orchid successfully pinned to the sofa. She couldn't move even if she tried. Frank's eyes gleamed.

'Surrender?'

Orchid's laugh was the heartiest and most contagious Sprite had ever heard. She looked around and saw Vienna giggling to herself also. Beaux has fallen asleep.

'Never!'

Frank took the opportunity to tickle her neck. Orchid was bound to wet herself in a moment.

'Frank,' Vienna giggled, 'let her up.'

He glared down at his prey. 'Not until you say that my garden is better than yours.'

Vienna winced, laughing even more now.

'What?'

'Say it!'

'It's not even your garden,' Sprite piped up.

Frank gasped, almost giving himself whiplash turning around to address her.

'Little mouse, you're supposed to be on my side!'

Oh God, why did he have to use her pet name. Oh that was embarrassing.

Vienna squeezed her arm. 'It's not his garden?'

'No,' Sprite grinned, 'it's Riff Raff's.'

She frowned. 'Who?'

On Frank and Orchid's front, all hell was set to break loose. Had the door not unexpectedly opened.

Orchid seized the opportunity to push Frank away, sitting up by herself and kicking Frank over to his own seat. The both looked towards the door a little sheepishly.

Vienna's confused frown (and Sprite's sudden fear) gradually went away as, unsure whether they had a visitor or not, they both turned to look.

The creaky rattling sounds of the old door awakened Beaux, who sat up, rubbing her eyes, to frown sleepily at the well-lit doorway.

It took everyone a while to register that Magenta was standing in the foyer - a brown paper bag in one arm, and a small child in the other.

* * *

Frank shrieked.

He rocketed across the room and dived not at Magenta, but the defenceless child instead. Well, Sprite almost had a heart attack: the confused elation of seeing Magenta, followed by the shock of Frank's pterodactyl noises and concluded by the unadulterated terror at seeing him pounce a tiny little person, it's a wonder she didn't suffocate there and then.

Why did no one else seem to be worried? Everyone looked just as ecstatic as Frank did! A poor, helpless child was about to be at the mercy of an inhumanly strong, mercurial tempered alien and no one was doing anything about it!

Sprite screwed her eyes shut for impact - and heard the child laughing.

She cracked one eye open, firstly to Vienna, curled up laughing at her. Magenta came running towards her with her arms open, she'd pay attention to her next. But she couldn't quite believe the sight unfolding in front of her.

Frank had the child scooped up in his arms, whizzing him around madly until they collapsed on the sofa. Frank kept ever such a firm hold on the child, both of them breathless. Frank roughly swayed the small boy from side to side, who laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

' _Ooh, I've missed you!'_ Frank exclaimed, hardly daring to believe he was even here at all. ' _You're so beautiful, and so big! Look how much you've grown!'_ Gasping suddenly, he glared at Vienna. ' _You!'_ He stabbed a finger at her. ' _You didn't tell me Dax came with you!'_ Clutching his hair, he exclaimed, ' _Oh my God!'_ And rocketed from the sofa again, to tackle Vienna into a hug instead.

' _Oh Frank, he's missed you so much,'_ Vienna said with a beaming smile. ' _He cried when I told him, because he was so happy.'_ She turned to Orchid and remarked, ' _We won't see him again now, he's got so much to tell you. He'll want to do all the old things: races, painting, I promised him you'd play piano and he hasn't forgotten about his nighttime stories either.'_ Vienna chuckled. ' _I said he's too old now, but-.'_

 _'Oh, there's no such thing!'_ Frank sweat the small boy into his arms again and sat him on his lap. _'We're going to have a glorious time! Hmm?'_ The boy (Sprite picked out 'Dax' from the flurry of foreign phrases, but couldn't be sure) knelt up to whisper something to Frank. His small hands cupped around Frank's ear, and Frank listened with the most intent.

Sprite found herself filled with anticipation.

Frank gasped, his playful shock almost pantomime-like. The boy squealed in delight, having successfully bowled-over whom he apparently idolised.

' _You didn't!_ '

He nodded happily.

' _I don't believe you.'_ He giggled again as Frank lifted him to hold his waist, the boy's short arms wrapping around his neck.

Sprite couldn't help but compare that to how _she_ normally embraced Frank. And then she felt really weird.

Frank spoke in a softer voice. Things were set to calm down a little now. Or it'll all end in tears, as they say.

' _Were you happy to see Magenta as well?'_

Catching Magenta's name amidst that foreign dialect made Sprite's heart leap. Until then, in fact, she'd almost forgotten she was there.

The woman in question had perched quietly on the arm of the chair, taking in the long-overdue bonding session with tears in her eyes. The chaos only lasted about a minute or two, and as soon as things began to simmer down, reality came rushing back to Sprite, just as she went rushing to Magenta.

They clapped each other up in the fiercest of hugs, walking clumsily into the next room to give themselves sone privacy. Sprite burst into tears as soon as she heard the door close, relieved beyond belief to finally have her maternal best friend back. She sobbed into Magenta's chest, uncaring if anyone could still hear her. She was just so familiar. The strong arms, gentle yet firm, holding her secure so she was not afraid of anything. The distinctive scent of black silk and jasmine - powerful yet comforting at the same time. Even her hair was exactly the same: ten seconds in and it was already tickling her nose.

Magenta prised her away gently, pressing a perfect black kiss print on her forehead.

'Haven't missed me much, then?'

'I'm just so _happy!_ ' Sprite took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down so she could talk to her dear friend properly. Magenta dabbed at her tears, soothing her as a mother would. 'What are you _doing_ here, I thought you were away for another two days-!'

'So did I,' Magenta explained happily, 'but Vienna reached out to me with how badly she wanted to bring little Dax and with everything that's been going on lately I just couldn't say no! And of course I had to come back and see you.' Magenta ruffled her hair, her eyes burning with love and warmth. She finished on a whisper. 'So here I am.'

'Columbia and Riff-?'

Magenta shook her head. 'No, you won't see them for another two days, I'm afraid. But that place was driving me insane. I couldn't go much longer without seeing you, never mind everything else.'

Sprite desperately wanted to ask where they went, but she already knew Magenta wouldn't tell her. Or worse, come up with some bullshit story that insulted even her intelligence to believe. So, she asked the more obvious question.

'Dax,' she began, 'is that-?'

'Okay, come and sit down.' Magenta led her back into the room. 'I'll explain everything to you now.'

Frank and his new best friend were still at it. The man now had the child suspended upside down by the ankles, spinning him around madly while everyone else had their hearts in their mouths. It seemed even alien boys had no fear, for he was giggling and laughing, calling for Frank to go faster.

The girls took the most secluded seat. Magenta put her arms around Sprite and began to talk.

'Dax,' said Magenta, 'is Vienna's son. She took him in three years after his birth, and has doted on him ever since. And as you can see,' Magenta gestured to the odd pair, still roughhousing with each other, 'he absolutely adores Frank.' She turned to Sprite, smirking. 'Can't believe it?' Sprite shook her head. 'It came as a shock to us all, at first. But Frank's brilliant with children - and they all seem to idolise him.'

Sprite couldn't help tensing up every now and then whilst watching them. If Frank were to drop him, have the child upset him in anyway, have something unrelated to the situation annoy him or someone else set him off... this couldn't be safe, surely?

'He wouldn't dare hurt a child.' Magenta seemed to read her thoughts. 'He inherits some sort of ability to control his temper when he's around them.' She laughed at the boy's contagious happiness. 'I think it's something to do with the responsibility. We've always had to look after him, but once he's in a position where he's the one to keep other safe, he loves rising to the challenge. That's probably why he's so good with you,' Magenta remarked. She sighed wistfully, slinging a protective arm around Sprite's thin shoulders. How has it been without me, then? Hmm?'

'Good,' Sprite answered truthfully. 'Not as bad as I thought - but don't ever leave me on my own like that again.'

Magenta stroked a piece of silver hair behind her ear. 'I won't,' she promised. 'What did you get up to?'

Sprite told her the truth - most of it. The majority was but the normal routine, albeit amplified to the extreme. She touched upon learning about Frank's past, enjoying her time with the dogs, and discovering that beautiful clearing. She didn't mention the sheet music or the horrible dream.

'I take it you've met Orchid, Vienna and Beaux, then.' Catching the tail end of their conversation, Orchid beamed and waved Magenta over. She merely smiled and signaled that she was staying there.

'You can go over if you want.'

'Nonsense, I'm not leaving you. They're a great bunch, aren't they?'

'Well, it's... they're different.' Magenta guffawed. 'But Frank told Baudelaire off earlier. I felt really bad, especially seeing as she's a grown woman and doesn't need to be reprimanded like a child.'

'Let me tell you a story about Baudelaire.' Sprite finally dismissed her dignity and settled in Magenta's lap. 'She's not a native Transylvanian. In fact, once upon a time, she was just like you.'

Sprite blinked. 'Just - she's human?'

'Born and bred in Paris, France. Lived there until she was twenty-one, when she met Astra. Astra, one hundred per cent Transylvanian, who's highly skilled in research, and was out on location when she and Beaux first met. Beaux fell head over heels for her, which was only natural; but nobody accounted for Astra forming an attachment as well.'

'So what happened?'

'Listen, miss impatient, and you'll find out.' She ruffled Sprite's hair fondly. 'Only in exceptional cases can a human be brought back permanently to Transsexual. It's different for us because we're more adaptive, but you, you're weak and you think you're the superior organism when you obviously aren't. Had Beaux been besotted with Astra she wouldn't have been able to depart, but _Astra_ wanted to keep her as well. There followed a long, gruelling process to get Beaux over to us - but that was five years ago, and look at her now.'

Beaux had taken over as babysitter for the moment, rocking Dax and singing to him until he was almost asleep.

'The happiest she's ever been.'

Sprite thought that was the coolest thing ever. You could actually go there, as long as you had some sort of endorsement? Not easy, but... not impossible! Did that mean - she could go too?

Despite this, Sprite frowned. 'I still don't understand,' she stated. 'Why is she so... Beaux?'

Magenta chuckled. 'It's the air. The atmosphere. You and your tiny brains, you aren't equipped to deal with the fumes properly. It sends ever last one of you a little spacey. Ha! I just made that up just now, I didn't even mean to say that.' She continued, 'Also, we have always considered humans to be kind of like the dogs of the universe. You're loyal enough, cute and sometime really annoying, but you haven't a clue what you're doing and you need someone to take ownership of you. I don't know about you, but Beaux adores all the special attention. She loves being taken care of.'

'I would too,' Sprite sighed, but then remembered something. 'She has a birthmark! I saw it, it's the same as ours-! I mean yours,' she corrected herself quickly. _Note to self: don't ever let Frank know you have that._

Either Magenta had gotten over that by now or felt disinclined to interrogate her on it in such a public setting. 'It's not real,' she explained. 'It's a tattoo. Everyone who becomes a permanent resident with us without having been born here needs to have one. It allocated class. But we want it to look as natural as possible - privacy, general respect, you know - so they use flesh toned ink.'

'Oh,' Sprite said. 'I thought it looked different.'

 _Still doesn't look like mine_.

'Vienna,' Beaux called, 'Dax has fallen asleep.'

'You know Baudelaire is not even her real name,' Magenta whispered. It was Fleur before she came to us.'

'Why-?'

'You get one chance to change it. Some do and others don't. She liked Baudelaire because it was still French, and a nod to the poet who was one of those decadent authors.'

Sprite hadn't a clue what Magenta was talking about, but nodded along politely anyway.

Vienna took her son ever so carefully from the reluctant Beaux, who wanted to rock him and croon to him forever. Sprite watched Vienna ascend the stairs before catching eyes with Frank.

He beckoned her over and she left Magenta without a second thought. She cuddled into his warm chest, sighing as he nuzzled and kissed her hair.

'Mm, I could just take a nap myself now.'

Sprite shook her head. He grinned down at her.

'I want to hear you play,' she whispered.

'Yes, Frank!' Sprite jumped. Orchid's eyes gleamed. 'Frank, you promised you'd give us a private concert!'

'After all this time?' He sighed dramatically. 'Oh darling, I'd be dreadful...'

'Sprite wants to hear you too!' She flushed, ducking her head against his velvety corset. 'Come on, Frank, we already know you can't refuse her!'

Frank, after ordering Orchid to stop shouting, took the calmer approach, sensing she was still nervous and shaken. Orchid always meant well, but the shouting still scared her.

He tilted her chin up ever so gently, speaking her her in a soft, quiet tone. 'What do you think, little one? Hmm? Would you like to hear some music?' She nodded, helpless but to give a slight smile. 'Perhaps we can play your piece as well?' The smile widened.

 _Finally,_ she thought, _something which came about easily._

* * *

Sprite sat next to Frank on the piano seat, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist. Magenta sat with Vienna, who joined them after Dax drifted off to sleep. Orchid cuddled with Beaux, who rested her black-blue head on Orchid's chest.

'Preferences,' Frank asked, 'anyone?'

Sprite patiently sat through the entirety of Beethoven's 'Moonlight', followed by Debussy's 'Clair de Lune' (after whispering that it was her favourite). Beaux wanted to hear some Mozart, and of course what piano concerto is complete without a touch of 'Für Elise.' An unrecognisable piece by a Transylvanian composer came next - and after sitting there for over twenty-five minutes, Sprite's patience ran out.

She wasn't exactly complaining. No, on the contrary, Sprite could sit and watch Frank play for hours. His strong and clever fingers would just go mad over the keys; he played with such an effortless skill and grace that could captivate a whole concert hall, never mind the five spectators in the room. His passion and love for the art was palpable through the tenderness with which he played, and the utterly content place the music put him in. Watching him change into a different person was mesmerising. The music consumed him. He was lost in it. Sprite would always remember the very specific point in which she saw him switch to autopilot. The ability to play wasn't coming from his brain anymore, to the devil with neurological patterns. It seemed to come from somewhere deeper than that, somewhere inside him. The invisible stuff that made Frank _Frank_ \- all the good bits - took over and played for him.

The last few notes of the twinkly, spritely piece faded out into a peaceful silence. Frank remained sitting there, staring. Had Sprite not politely started clapping, would he still be sat there? Would _they_ still be sat there, hypnotised, waiting patiently for more music? She didn't (couldn't?) turn to see the other's reaction - were they as motionless and floored as her?

'Frank, that was so good!' Sprite exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. 'You said you hadn't played in ages!'

'I haven't,' Frank chuckled while patting her on the back as the others began to whoop and cheer.

Orchid's voice seemed thick with emotion. 'I always forget how talented you are, and every time you amaze me even more!'

''Do your fingers not get tired from playing all that?'

'Beaux, sweetheart, you've been practising, haven't you? Why don't you show Frankie what you've been working on?'

'Wait!' Beaux stopped, still bent at the waist, and sat back down. Frank produced a familiar sheet with a flourish, setting it nearly on the stand. Someone (presumably him) has gone over the staves and notes with a darker pen, yet no adjustments had been made. 'Lessie has a piece to share with us first.'

Magenta's voice made her nervous. That had never happened before.

'You compose?' Sprite shifted to face her frowning expression. 'Why do I not know this?'

'It's sort of embarrassing...'

'Oh, my darling's just being modest.' Frank ruffled her hair yet again. 'Now, let's see... remember, if this is shit, we all know who to blame.'

General polite laughter rippled through the room. And then he began to play.

Nothing felt quite the same after that.

It started off wonderful. Sweet, whimsical, profound. Nice and slow, Sprite found herself imagining cloudy skies, green fields, wooden swings. It caused that pleasant knotting feeling in Sprite's stomach akin to watching an amazing theatre show or hearing Frank croon her lullaby. Her heart beat faster to compensate for this, but it felt fine.

Then the phrasing began to change - speed up - and things got strange.

The hypnotic sounds conjured up images of ageing books, warm candlelight, frowning gargoyles. Knowledge, comfort, fear.

She saw pressed daisies, _really_ saw them. Placed atop a distressed wooden table, tied together with a lilac-purple ribbon next to a stone cold cup of stale black tea. A slice of lemon, congealing in a dish after having been left too long, was in there somewhere. She smelt it, the distinctive citrus scent, therefore it was real.

Did this tune come out of a music box? Is that where she recognised it? A music box, not like the dangerous one gifted to get by a madman, but daintier, lighter, more pink satin and white wood than black mirrors and purple velvet. Storing notes instead of jewellery. Notes, letters. Did she write them? No, she would have remembered. Is this what these were? Memories? Or drugs? Had she finally lost her mind?

A window seat, a leather window seat. With thick uncleaned curtains, huge bits of dust floating around in the air. Illuminated by the mild sunlight but the warm temperature compensated for the mess. Playing cards, scattered, dented, all over the floor. Glass fragments - of crystals? No, perfume - what else could that smell be? - twinkling menacingly atop the wooden floorboards. Danger hidden in logic. And the rainbows - torn pieces of them, sprinkling the faded wall - the beauty of combining them both.

All one needs is a little sunlight.

Her heart pounded like she was running. Running through dried grass, through gravel, trampling flowerbeds. She tasted salt. Was it sea air? Food? Tears? The physical signs of fear were there, but was she actually afraid? No. No, for the first time ever, she appeared to running _towards_ something. Less planning the runaway and more considering the stay.

Now wouldn't that be nice.

Then this had to be a dream.

The song faded to silence. She found herself resurfacing from somewhere deep and twisted and wonderful - despite not ever wanting to go back there.

Yet the song had not finished.

The slowness took over again, almost identical to the first section. As reality began phasing back in again, Sprite took the chance to study Frank. He too, seemed to have had a funny turn. His gaze fixated, not on the music in front of him nor down at his hands, but just above. Not looking not seeing anything. He looked happy - yet he had tears in his eyes. Sprite noticed, in fact, he was looked directly at the grandfather clock standing in the foyer.

That hands had stopped turning. Huh.

The song faded to an end with a lovely and soft finish. Sprite's awareness came back to her gradually, along with rather painful pins and needles. All of a sudden she felt the desperate need to cry.

Frank brought the piano lid down with an abrupt bang. Everyone jumped, and Sprite was finally back in one piece. Orchid stepped quietly up behind her, touching her arm - they all sensed something was wrong, how would she ever explain this? - before kneeling down before her.

She proceeded to praise her in the quietest voice Sprite had yet to hear from her. She held her gently, her eyes were mild. Even her teeth didn't seem as bright.

'You really wrote that yourself?' Sprite hadn't been listening to the first half of Orchid's statement, so she just nodded with a smile.

Sprite caught a glimpse of Magenta - as she was leaving the room.

Frank retired to his room not long after, wiping tears from his eyes.

* * *

'Now tell me the truth.' Frank towered over Magenta, glaring down at her with blazing eyes. 'What are you really doing here?'

Reality still hadn't quite realigned for Magenta at that point.

That whole piano fiasco was too strange for words. She could do nothing but watch, paralysed, as both Frank and Sprite slipped onto some kind of catatonic state. Magenta felt a little rough around the edges herself, but not enough to warrant the fear expressed by everyone else in the room. That song made the longest three minutes of her life: valiantly trying to dismiss their creepy reaction as something non-noteworthy. Although it was hard to appear nonchalant as she felt slightly drunk herself.

She managed to prompt Orchid into going over and comforting Sprite (Magenta blamed it on severe anxiety) before getting up and without even registering it - marching herself here.

To Frank's room, where instead of suffering an episode, he threw degrading and vile slurs at her, (she caught the silent order to never speak of the piano again) for leaving early and not completing her tasks. And Magenta's half-mad defence was coming into play right about now.

'I did everything you asked me to,' Magenta began with an ease surprising even herself. ' _My_ part was finished. The girls wanted me here, so I came back.'

Frank folded his arms. 'Prove it.'

'I'm here, aren't I?'

'No, your _completion,_ you-.'

Ooh she hadn't heard that word for a long time. Good old Transylvanian comfort.

She sighed, leaving the room only to return moments later with a wad of papers in both hands. 'She was three months when you saw her,' Magenta handed the papers over to Frank, 'which means she would be about five now. You have the diagrams I drew up, the instructions, the contingency plan. Of course these designs were very rough, my brother made vast improvements upon them all.'

'When will they be ready?'

'Tomorrow. Maybe the day after.' Magenta snatched the papers back rather protectively. 'Riff's been working tirelessly, day and night, to have everything ready before -.' Her throat suddenly closed up. She choked out, 'Before it's too late.'

Frank's face darkened. 'It won't come to that,' he swore. 'Even if I have to sit down with her myself, we will not be too late.' He closed his eyes, sighing. 'And my Columbia? How is she?'

'Fine. Brilliant, actually. She loves the freedom, you know that.' She smiled fondly. 'Every night it's a different event: a concert here, a theatre show there, restaurants, dances, films, even quizzes. If it's a public affair, she'll be there.' Magenta exhaled gently. 'In fact, there's something I'd better tell you-.'

Someone interrupted their meeting, followed by Sprite poking her silver head around the door. She flushed, sheepish, upon seeing she'd walked in on something.

'Everything okay, little mouse?'

'Actually I - I came to ask you,' she grimaced. 'Are you okay? The way you went up here, I thought you'd had another turn or something-.'

'Oh, darling!' Frank stepped away from Magenta, gripping Sprite firmly by her shoulders. 'You needn't worry about me, I'm fine. Magenta and I were just talking, see? Is it nice to have her back?' She nodded, a bashful smile growing already. Frank turned Sprite into a blushing schoolgirl in all but point one seconds. Frank tilted her chin up, looking at her seriously. 'Are the girls being nice to you?'

She nodded again. 'Vienna's teaching me origami.'

'Oh, you loved that, didn't you? I hope you kept all those dragons you made with-.'

Oops. Don't swear in here.

Sprite ducked her head, either uncomfortable or embarrassed.

'Also, they're asking-.' She tucked her hair behind her ear, '-they're asking about a... a party.'

'A party?'

'Yes, they want to meet more of... well, me.' She giggled nervously. 'What should I tell them?'

Frank smiled. 'Their wishes are my commands tonight.'

Sprite managed a weak smile. She had wanted a different outcome, Magenta could see that. The girl was exhausted, frightened, so far out of her comfort zone. The left thing she wanted or needed was another party. Just think what happened last time! All Magenta wanted to do was scoop her up and take her into a quiet bedroom, bundling her under the thick covers and staying with her until everything returned to normal.

'Dax,' Sprite spoke again, 'is still asleep. He was super hyper one minute and then he just checked out. Is it normal for your kids to conk our like that?'

'It's just the climate change, my flower, you've nothing to worry about. He's fine. We're rather nocturnal as a species so he's programmed to sleep during the day.' An excited glint dances in Frank's eyes. 'Now then, he clasped her shoulders again, 'shall we tell our girls to start scouting?'

Sprite nodded half-heartedly. Frank proved, almost right away, that he wasn't completely heartless.

'Or would you rather stay here?'

She threw her arms around him. 'Yes, please!'

'With Magenta?' He murmured into her hair. 'Hmm?'

Her face fell. 'You're not staying?'

'I can't, darling, not when an affair's underway.' He pinched her cheek. 'Cheer up, you'll have Magenta. She's very good to you, she looks after you a lot.'

Lessie hung her head, guilt written all over her face.

Magenta couldn't deny she felt hurt by Sprite's reaction. But, she reasoned with herself, she had had an exhausting five days (both mentally and physically) and now yet another demanding ordeal stretched out before her. It was only natural that she would want Frank. Magenta didn't need confirmation that Sprite loved and was grateful for her - however it would be nice to be first choice, just for once.

Frank devoted all his attention to Sprite one more time before he left.

'When all this is done,' he promised her, 'I'll give you anything you want. It's the least I can do after you've been such a diamond for me.' He had the sense of leaning in to whisper, 'I love you so much. I'm so proud of you.'

Magenta heard it clear as day anyway, but feigned ignorance. Her Sprite beamed, the colour of Columbia's hair, as Frank winked and left the room.

Regardless of the negative effects the turbulent relationship may have on her little human, it was wonderful to see Sprite so happy, and so utterly smitten.

Magenta teased her a little of course (it was too easy, and the girl was adorable when embarrassed), until Sprite threw her arms around her.

'Oh, Sylvie' Magenta cooed, hugging her back tightly.

'I've missed you so much,' she whispered. 'You don't know how hard it's been without you.'

'Darling you have done _brilliantly_. Take what Frank just said, would he be saying that for no reason? You've kept him calm, you've held yourself together, you've taken care of the dogs, you've worked, cooked and cleaned.' Magenta wrinkled her nose up then. Perhaps their definitions of clean were two different things. 'And you met Orchid, Vienna _and_ Baudelaire! By yourself! You didn't have to psyche yourself up in your room, hide behind Frank, you didn't even cry, apparently-.'

'Yes, alright Magenta you've made your point.' Sprite smiled, yet her dear friend was not far away at all from getting punched in the face.

'Sorry, darling, I just couldn't believe it when Frank told me.' She smoothed down her unruly curls, sighing wistfully. 'Oh I wish Amethyst was here. Darling, she would have _loved_ you.'

Sprite wanted to ask why Amethyst didn't travel with the others. Magenta didn't know why Amethyst didn't travel with the others. So, by somewhat of a happy mistake, the conversation took an intense U-Turn.

Sprite swung her arms around idly. 'So,' she smacked her lips together, 'What do you want to do now?'

Magenta shrugged. 'Nothing crazy. I'm pretty tired from taking that pocket-rocket everywhere today.'

Both pairs of eyes drifted not-so-subtly towards the luxurious bed. One grinned, the other fidgeted.

Sometimes all anyone needs is a good nap.

* * *

Sprite awoke to thumping music.

The room was in darkness. Curtains drawn, no candles alight. Cold, too, it seemed. Despite the layers of thick blanket, Sprite still shivered.

It took Sprite a while to realise that Magenta wasn't there. Her anchor had vanished during the night - and Sprite was in no fit state to venture out into the danger zone to find her.

She flicked on the bedside lamp, adjusting the covers around her bare figure. Because they did (and with ever increasing frequency, continued to do) more than just sleep. She hoped Frank has not seen anything. A more dominant part of her hoped he had.

She'd left her black silken underclothes in a heap on the floor.

The girl in question crept in through the door.

'Oh, good morning. Or should I say good evening?' Magenta laughed. 'Won't you come out, just for a spell? It's really not that bad, I've witnessed worse. Plus the girls are missing you.' She perched on the end of the king-sized bad. 'I'll be with you the whole time, and you know no harm will come to you while Frank's there.'

Her heart sank, but she didn't say no. Only two days until Columbia came back (and it was worth mentioning Riff Raff - in fact she'd rather missed him) and Sprite needed things like this to distract her from merely counting the hours of each day. She couldn't spend any more of her life _waiting_. For the next day, the next fight, the next drink. And right then, feeling comforted and empowered by Magenta's presence, she made a conscious effort to change that.

'Fine.' The girl still huffed, not wanting to appear too out of character. 'But swear you won't get carried away and abandon me.'

'Cross my heart,' Magenta raised her right hand, drawing an X over her chest with the other, 'and hope to die.'

Sprite reluctantly got dressed (still into a fantastic outfit - outshining all of those poor saps invading her space was the only thing keeping her going). She left her hair but dramatised her makeup, under the supervision of Magenta.

She turned from the well-lit mirror, wringing her hands together nervously.

'Magenta,' she began, her voice even quieter than usual. 'You don't think Frank will be mad at us, do you?'

Her forehead creased. 'Why would he-?' She scoffed, rolling her eyes. One false eyelash was beginning to peel off. 'If Frank reprimands you for seeking another sexual partner, he could never tell you to mind him ever again. It's double standards and it's jealousy. I highly doubt he would take any action because you were with me: he knows I can look after you. He might not have even seen it. But if he does - shouts, cries, degrades, anything - ignore him and tell me straight away.' She squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. 'I know this is textbook hypocritical Frank behaviour, but you shouldn't have to put up with it. You've even come to expect it now; you can't do most anything without worrying what he'll have to say; you're such a sweet girl... honestly, Sylvie, it breaks my heart.'

That was nice and all, but why did Sprite get so much attention? This had already happened with Columbia (and who knows what terrible things has unfolded before then), but Sprite had never seen Magenta express the same love and affection towards Columbia. They were fast friends, yes, but this _obligation_ to take care of her? The indirect guilt when Sprite became unhappy? Unnecessarily burdening herself with Sprite's problems, feeling the effects as strongly as if they were her own? What could Magenta possibly be gaining from that? And why didn't Columbia deserve the same?

Sprite smiled nonetheless. Thanked her. And promised she was alright.

'Are you ready?'

'No. I can see it already. I bet it's full of people who think watching documentaries on serial killers is quirky.' Magenta guffawed. Sprite continued, on a roll and increasingly frustrated. 'The girls have that one gay male friend, therefore say things like 'yas queen' and 'slay hunty' all the damn time. The boys are perplexed by how lesbian sex works because they've never given an orgasm and I feel sorry for their girlfriends because if they think the only way to pleasure them is by putting their dick in them then they're having really bad sex.'

Magenta, now crouching, howled with laughter. She stayed there for a while, fighting to catch her breath and only laughing even more. Eventually she straightened up, clutching her side and chuckling.

She sighed, wiping her eyes. 'I've never quite known how to describe them. You hit every nail on the head. Especially the one about the-!' She burst out laughing a second time, covering her mouth with both hands.

'There's more,' Sprite giggles, 'but I don't want you to explode. 'I suppose they think Frank is a drag queen?'

She screamed. Any more of this and she'd urinate all over the floor. She regained her composure much quicker this time around. 'No more, my stomach hurts.' She checked her face in the mirror. 'Oh wow, that was too funny.'

If nothing else, Sprite felt one hundred times safer about stepping out for tonight. Holding on to Magenta's arm, she felt like nothing could ever phase her again.

She studied the carnage all around her. Well. She predicted it.

Awful memories of those 'jeans and a nice top' parties began to re-surface. The girls here had nothing on her, with their peroxide-blond hair and tacky platform shoes they couldn't walk in. They outnumbered her in the breasts and hips departments, but at least her's were real. They layered mascaras on top of poorly applied false eyelashes. Teeth, nails, personality, it all screamed fake. They drank out of red plastic cups in lieu of sophisticated glasses - she may be an alcoholic but at least she had class. Who thought layering pale pink lipstick over orange fake tan was a good idea?

Sprite glanced at Magenta, and saw she felt the same. The were receiving dirty looks already. Either Magenta had already pissed some people off or these basic barbie dolls felt insufferable jealousy.

If only Frank were to come up now, and make a fuss of her in front of all these competitors. That would be the icing on the cake.

And just think: all of this was concluded before talking to any of them.

Perhaps she wasn't all that bad at these types of parties. Up against these boring alternatives, Sprite already had a sense of being better than them. Putting others down to raise herself up was hardly a noble quality - but let's just say she'd had a few role models to show her the way. It was Frank inviting his own kind that petrified her. Amongst those mesmerising creatures, she demoted to one of _them_. Boring. Clueless. A three amongst tens. And even less convinced that Frank really has chosen her.

Magenta discreetly nudged her side. 'Watch out,' she murmured. 'I do believe that young man is making eyes at you.'

Oh, God. If the girls were bad, the boys were even worse. Was it so hard to wear something other than a grey hoodie? Boys who cheat, boys who lie, boys who refuse to see the difference between yes and no, boys who think saying a kind word constitutes to awful sex, boys who lean on her to better themselves then leave once she became of no use to them anymore.

'Just ignore him if it bothers you.' Magenta's grip tightened on Sprite's hand. 'But try not to look like you're about to murder him.'

'Because it's unladylike?'

'Because he's enjoying it.'

The male in question (poorly gelled blond hair, watery blue eyes) would not stop staring at her. She angled herself away from him, fanning out her hair to create more of a curtain between them. The conversation they pretended to have consisted of Magenta going, 'No, don't turn around yet. Smile, laugh or something, pretend you're talking to me. He's _smirking_. Revolting. What is his problem, he's been watching you like a hawk for five minutes!'

'I'm going over.'

'No, don't.' Magenta grabbed her arm. 'I implore you not to go. He's giving _me_ weird vibes.' She frowned sternly. 'Stay. Here.'

'What's the worst that could happen?' Sprite pulled her arm free. 'This is my house, he can't hurt me.'

Magenta was slightly taken aback by the sharp contrast in her friend's behaviour. She had unpredictable bursts of confidence like this, and it was weird. What caused them? Was it the makeup? Outfits? Or something more neurological, like her brain simply felt playing along today?

Sprite marched towards to the boy, who grew more embarrassed the closer she got. She stepped right up to him and crossed her arms confrontationally.

'Why do you keep staring at me?' She demanded.

'I'm sorry.' One could fry eggs on his face right about now. 'I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just that I - did you go to Oakwood Academy?'

Her stomach fell out of her ass. Oh my fucking god. She'd just been recognised.

A little too coldly for nonchalance, she snapped, 'Why?'

'I have a friend who goes there. When she bothers to turn up.' He laughed, still with that hazy, confused most clouding his eyes. The cogs in his head clanked and whirred on overtime. Not long now until he remembered what he'd been searching for. Sprite prematurely dreaded that outcome. 'I go to her parties all the time, and I could swear that I've seen you at a few of them before.' His eyebrow quirked. 'But it's been so long, I started to think I'd made you up. So what brings you to this one?'

Expertly avoiding the question, Sprite asked, 'Who's this friend with the big parties?'

The answer came in physical form. Screaming, rocketing towards her with its arms open, somewhere hysterical between laughing and crying. Rich mahogany hair flying out behind it, vivid green eyes streaming with overwhelmed tears.

A sickly mist of black dread pooled in Sprite's stomach, travelling up casually, meandering in and out of her sensibilities, to indiscriminately infect every left inch of her. She sensed herself shrieking the long disused name, but couldn't quite hear it. Heard as if underwater. Saw as if in slow-motion. It was as if the affair melted away into a large dark room and these were the only two people left to inhabit it. It was bitterly unfair, really. It made the truth all but impossible to ignore.

' _Remi?!_ '

The world clicked back into real time as the long-lost friend threw herself at Sprite. Instead of fiercely hugging her back, however, squeaking and sobbing in total happiness the way Remi was, Sprite _shoved_ her, with vicious attack, hard enough to send her reeling. Had someone not caught her, she may well have been knocked unconscious.

Exclamations of worry and shock drowned out the music, but Sprite didn't care. She wasn't there anymore. A deep rooted blaze of hate and anger

 _'It's not anger,_

flared up all over again because

 _It's_ _ **fear'**_

she had to get Remi out.

'What are you _doing here?_ ' She screamed, immune to the heartbroken look in her friends eyes, along with watching her re-adjust herself. Sprite had really hurt her by doing that, but there were more important things at stake. 'You stupid bitch, why did you come here? Are you trying to get yourself killed?! _Get out!_ '

She raised her hand to strike again, but this time, Remi spoke.

'Sprite, what has _happened_ to you? It's been so long, we were all out of our _minds_ with worry...! Oh, I can't believe I found you!' Her eyes widened. 'Have you been here the whole time?'

'I-.'

'Look, it doesn't matter.' Remi stepped forward, clasping her hands. The touch sent a sickening jolt right to Sprite's core. She really was here, then. Obliviously wandering into the den of iniquity without a thought for herself or anyone else. It's not just you that gets hurt in here. You risk your friends, your family. Your life.

A frightened noise emitted deep within Sprite's throat.

Remi appeared just as overwhelmed - drowned out (if only just) by an intense sense of black fear. 'Look at you, you're so thin. Yours hands are freezing, Sprite. How did you get here? Why did you stay? Was it that hard to return any one of our endless calls?' She shook her long-lost friend by the shoulders. 'Do you even hear what I'm saying? You're eyes, they're so...' she snapped her fingers in front of Sprite's face. 'Are you on something? Sprite, for the love of God, talk to me!'

'I can't,' Sprite managed, her mouth drier than the Sahara. 'There's no time. Remi, you need to get out. Leave and don't come back, before-.'

'Before _what_ , Sprite? Who are these people you've been staying with? Have they got you addicted to drugs, are the starving you, or what? Have you even seen yourself, Sprite, you look ill! What are they doing to you?'

She shook her head. 'Nothing. I didn't mean it like that, it sounds worse than it is.'

'Not that schizo who let us in?' Worry dawned on Remi's face. 'Tell me _that_ doesn't live here with you?'

Oh fuck, here we go. Ignore it, Sprite, she'll leave any minute now. She looked over for Magenta - her rock had disappeared.

Remi threw her arms around her - a gesture of relief, farewell, comfort, it could have been any number of things - Sprite cried out in pain. It was the shock, most of all (most people here are out to hurt others) but a sharp jolt of aching numbness rocketed up her spine like a current. The green-eyed one shot backwards. A new look of determination in her eyes.

'Listen to me,' Remi held her face, ' _come home_. This place is not right for you, it's dangerous and you're clearly petrified all the time. You were on the verge of tears before you even recognised me! You need to come away from this, to recover, surely you must see that? I don't know what goes on here but looking at you it can't be good. I can't even hug you anymore for Christ's sake! I can see your ribs, feel your spine, and your eyes, they say it _all._ We _need_ you, Sprite. Let us take care of you.'

'They say that every time-.'

The tearful mumble stopped. Not because it turned into crying, or because the conversation got interrupted. Remi had gently tried to take hold of Sprite's wrist, intent on leading her away (though to where, exactly? Death? That's where her and her unconditional caregiver knew she'd end up if she walked on too far, regardless of the time span). When Sprite's feet (incased in cement or at least felt as such) didn't move, Remi pulled a little bit harder. Hard enough to exceed the pressure limit on the delicate silver band, concealed almost completely against the smooth colour of her paper-white skin. Frank's one and only bracelet, treasured for decades, passed down through the generations, a royal family heirloom - snapped clean in two, and slipped off her wrist. It landed with a faint tinkling noise on the hard floor.

Sprite stared at the broken piece numbly for a few moments. And then Sprite snapped.

She lunged at her old friend a second time - utterly swamped by the hot, blazing anger. She attacked the girl like a wild dog, kicking, screaming, clawing any exposed surface she could reach. A pandemonium erupted behind her, but she didn't care. Not even three well-built males could restrain her in this state.

Poor Remi screamed and cried with her, begging her to stop, but to Sprite the name Remi was all but forgotten. She wouldn't stop. She couldn't.

A whole hank of hair cane away in Sprite's hand, heels were _slammed_ into the back of bent knees, clothes ripped, glass smashed. Bruises, slices, bites. And blood. Oh boy, was there blood.

Who knows what would have happened had Magenta not flown down the stairs, Frank in tow, to separate the two. Who knows what else Sprite could have been responsible for.

Even Frank struggled to wrestle Sprite off of the other girl (who sported a cut lip, damaged hair, coursing blood in some places and ugly bruises everywhere else. She could hardly breath, chest heaving in and out violently enough to make her gag, and was shaking something terrible as Magenta helped her up). Sprite didn't make it easy for Frank to get her away from the scene. She didn't stop fighting, sobbing, swearing, up two flights of stairs and finally into Frank's bedroom.

Baudelaire came around the corner, petrified, as Frank pushed Sprite through the door.

'Beaux, darling.' Frank remained as calm as possible whilst keeping the door shut against Sprite's hysterics. 'Get your friends. The rest are out.'

'What-?'

'She's fine,' Frank said, referring to the half-mad girl _still_ trying to push open the door. 'At once, Beaux. Okay?'

She nodded, rather shaken, and drifted downstairs.

As soon as the violet fabric travelled around the corner, Frank wrenched the door open and slammed it closed as quickly as possible - even that didn't stop her from trying to get out.

He seized her, shoving her hard against the unforgiving stone wall. It pained Frank to physically restrain her (he knew how she hated it, and he never liked being forced into doing anything) but it had to be done. She could seriously hurt someone in this state, or worse, herself.

He'd known about her anger problems and dealt with them a few times before, but he had never, ever, seen her in a state such as this.

'Lessie, stop it! Stop it!' He struggled with her yet again, for she still hadn't burned out. Tears streamed down her face, she screamed her throat raw, her tiny legs kicking madly. 'Calm yourself down, there's no need to get into such a state! What has happened to you? You never used to be like this!' Nothing seemed to be registering, but Frank stayed composed. 'Now take some deep breaths-.'

'She - broke - my-!'

He pressed her harder into the wall. 'Talk to me properly-.'

'She _knew-_!'

'And I'll be able to help you.'

' _I hate you!'_

He struck her with brutal force. Her head cracked against the wall with a sickening clack. Like the first time they met, but twice as hard.

And then something finally registered. His poor, hysterical, exhausted little mouse stared at him with raw heartbreak in her helpless eyes. Frank loosened his grip (her arms would bruise later) his expression burning with pity and concern more than anything else.

A beat passed - and then she broke down.

She clung to him, little arms and legs holding on with all their might, hiding her face from him as she sobbed into his chest. It absolutely broke his heart to see his little mouse like this. If only she had an ounce of self-control, or at least common sense, then she wouldn't upset herself so often. He couldn't even stroke her hair because she bumped her head, and it was all her own fault.

He sighed, shaking his head although she couldn't see. 'Darling...' He conveyed his being a little bit cross with her through his voice instead, hoisting her to his waist ever so gently and sitting her with him on the end of the bed all the same. Her tiny body fit perfectly into the curves of his own, keeping her firmly enclosed in a warm and gentle embrace. He often wondered about he motives for these things. Did she act out on purpose to get attention like this from him? Was it perhaps his fault, for being such a pushover?

No, it wouldn't do anyone any favours to start thinking like that. She chose to seek refuge in his house, to slink into his laboratory, to let Hugo manipulate her. No one held a gun to her head.

'Alright, mousy, you can stop crying now. You don't want to frighten the girls, do you?' She shook her head without pulling up. 'Take some deep breaths and calm yourself down now, there's a good girl.'

She trembled like a leaf within his arms. No wonder she was always so ill, she caused it for herself most of the time. Who would have a clean bill of health after working themselves up into hysterics over a small party, or one snide comment?

Lessie hiccuped. 'Will she be okay?'

He couldn't lie to her. It ate him up inside if he lied. 'I don't know,' he murmured, 'but I think it's time you told me just what you were thinking, my girl.'

'It wasn't my fault, she-.'

'Look at me, please.' Frank tilted her chin up, wiping the last of her tears away. He would keep her there until she gave a satisfactory answer.

She sighed, fidgeting in his lap. 'I'll be in even more trouble.'

'No you won't,' Frank stressed, fighting the urge to put her lights out. 'I won't be angry with you as long as you tell me the truth, you _know that_. What are you afraid of? Hmm? Frankie wouldn't hurt you.'

At last, some eye contact. She said nothing. Merely looked at him.

She sighed again, and began to explain.

'It started off, Magenta warned me that this person was staring at me. He wouldn't look away, not even when he stopped Orchid to get another drink. I went over and it turned out he recognised me. From before. We went to the same school.' Sprite had already decided she wouldn't look at him again until she'd finished explaining. Frank's expression (even if their was none) would instantly put her off. 'He said he came with a friend of the same school, I turned around and it was Remi. One of the girls I went to the party with. She left me outside in the car.

'It was a total shock, seeing her after all this time. I was embarrassed to let her see me like this, resentful because she hadn't tried to find me or even cared that I'd gone, petrified that she'd go back and tell everyone she saw me and I wouldn't be safe here anymore.'

'You'll _always_ be safe here.'

'And then - oh I can feel myself getting upset just thinking about it - she tried to make me leave. "Come home, Sprite" she was saying. "This place is too dangerous." "Let us take care of you." She grabbed my arm, tried to pull me away. And then she-.' Sprite, sniffling, reached into her pocket for her broken chain. '-this snapped. And I snapped as well, I guess.'

'If she hadn't broken your chain, Frank began after awhile, 'would you have gone?'

Sprite jumped. 'What?'

'Would you have gone?' Frank leaned forwards, eyes gleaming. 'Have her lead you away, away from me, back to the cesspool where you came? Back to those people who don't care about you, who abandoned you in the rain, left you for dead in the blackest night? Would you have chosen her over me?'

'Frank, stop it!' Sprite only just managed to teeter on the edge of the bed. 'Of course I wouldn't! I _chose_ to stay here! You made my life by accepting me, why would I want to throw that away?'

He sneered. 'I thought the fear might send you away.'

She blinked. 'What-?'

'Of what happens to little girls who steal.'

Sprite really had no idea what he was talking about. This was going to be an awkward conversation.

'Cleared it from your conscience already, have you?' Frank gave her look that shrivelled her up into a tiny dried pea on the floor. 'The _nerve_ , the _gall_ , to go through _my_ belongings, _my_ property, and sabotage my progress. You really are pathetic, aren't you? So desperate are you to have me all to yourself, you'd jeopardise Magenta's happiness as well, the girl who would die for you?!'

'Frank I really don't-!'

'The letters, _my_ letters, the only way my principals can communicate with me! That phone call your brainless self tried to answer this morning was a message from them, querying why they hadn't received an update in three weeks. Do you know what the cut off time is, before they terminate our time here without so much as a written warning?'

Sprite felt sick. He clearly wasn't talking about the ones addressed to Juniper, so he just mean... the ones from the fireplace. Written in that alien hand, making not a lick of sense. She jumped, accidentally dropped them and...

'Four weeks,' she whispered numbly.

'And had I not been there to take thar call? Or, even worse, had _you_ taken it?'

She shrugged helplessly, tears falling all over again.

'You were lucky, my girl. Very lucky.' He sighed, the anger softening. 'I was planning to teach you a lesson. I had everything ready for poor Beaux, with her head in the clouds the way it permanently is, to send you up here with complete innocence.' Following Frank's casual gaze, Sprite noticed her curling iron, the one she'd misplaced a while ago, sitting atop Frank's dresser, plugged in, and set to the highest temperature.

An awful thrill ran down her spine.

'But I think you've punished yourself enough for tonight.' _Not tomorrow_ , Sprite thought worriedly. 'Now get out of my sight, before I change my mind.'

She left as calmly as possible - but one burning question stopped her in the doorway.

'If you did have to drop everything and go back,' Sprite asked, her heart in her mouth, 'what would happen to me?'

Frank stared into space as he deadpanned his answer.

'If I can't have you, no one can.'

Sprite closed the door on her way out.

* * *

 **Of course I had to name Sprite's posh swanky private school after myself. Did I mention I'm nineteen now?**

 **Alma Oakley**


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Lol the quality of these pieces** has **taken a nose dive.**

 **Happy 2019! I hope everyone had a restful and pleasant Christmas, and the new year treats you well!**

 **My usual reviewers know who they are - big hugs.**

 **Guess who got tickets to Rocky Horror for Christmas lol me mofos.**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

Sprite needed to find Magenta. She had been the one to deal with Remi.

The house was eerily quiet in contrast to less than an hour ago. The place was a mess - half-empty glasses littered the dirty tables, her socks stuck to and proceeded to peel from the sticky wooden floor, someone had let poor Razor out, who was laying in the middle of it all looking quite bewildered. That would somehow be her fault as well, no doubt.

Dried blood peppered the stairs.

She followed the trail, shaking. On the way she passed each of the girls' rooms. Orchid's light was out. Sprite could hear faint snoring. The crack under Baudelaire's door shone a delicate light, but sighing could be heard from within that room as well. She must use a nightlight, and had already fallen asleep. Sprite came to Vienna's room last, which sported both a faint light (green, this time) and quiet voices. She listened a while, intrigued.

 _'But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked. Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat, we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad. How do you know I'm mad? said Alice. You must be," said the Cat, or you wouldn't have come here.'_

Vienna was reading Dax a bedtime story. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ by the sounds of it. The insightful cat spoke far too much truth to the worn out little mouse.

Something compelled Sprite to gently knock on the door.

Vienna gave a slight gasp. 'Who's that?' Footsteps passed to the door before the door eased open - before Sprite had thought of anything to say.

'Sorry,' she blurted, ' I just heard-.'

'Come in, darling.' Vienna smiled kindly at her. 'It's okay.'

Sprite stepped nervously into the room. The most intimidating thing about this situation were the two huge, glossy, black eyes staring at her from within a mound of blankets and pillows, as though she were about to eat the small boy they belonged to.

'I'm just going to introduce you,' Vienna explained. 'Reassure him not to be afraid of you. He won't understand you, but I'll translate if you'd like to say anything.'

'You were reading to him in English.'

Vienna smiled. 'He likes the sound.'

She climbed back into the large bed (the book lay open upside down - that would bend the spine) and brought the child in close. She spoke gently to him (it was strange how, even in alien languages, Motherese was recognisable) and the boy mumbled back. A lot of these children's tendencies were the same - he chewed on his fist when nervous, he tried to hide in his mother's chest, he wore the cutest pair of pyjamas with stars on the bottom and planets on the top.

In fact, the whole room was rather space oriented. The green light Sprite had seen came from a rocket-shaped nightlight emitting a gentle glow, an analogue clock which looked like the moon sat on his nightstand, someone had stuck calming fluorescent stars on the ceiling.

Sprite used to have those.

'Where did all this stuff come from?'

'Frank found it.' The green-haired one grinned. 'They have one of everything in the world hidden here somewhere. These were the products of a long while searching, but we found what we needed eventually.' She grinned again. 'Dax says it's nice to meet you. He wants to know if you live here now.'

'It's nice to meet him too.' She hoped her smile didn't look as forced as it felt. 'I do live here now, I arrived six months ago. Frank, he - he's looking after me.'

Mother and son discussed between themselves.

'Can Dax come and live here too?'

She laughed. 'I'm sure Frank wouldn't mind. Do you like seeing Frank?'

'It's his favourite thing in the whole world. It's been so long, he missed him so terribly. He cried every night the first week, wanting Frank there to read to him again.'

Sprite perched on the end of the bed. 'Did Frank live with you before, or...?'

'He might as well have lived with us.' Tears sparkled in her eyes. 'We aren't as private as you, with most things. We share our feelings, our bodies, and our homes. It's very rare for one person to live on their own. Frank had his own house of course - he could afford ten of them - but the big group of us always stayed together. My house became the official meeting place after I had Dax. Before that it was Quincy - has Frank told you about Quincy?'

Sprite briefly explained.

'Ah, that's wonderful. Well, the people in that picture, we travelled in a pack. They spoiled my baby rotten, but he took a particular shine to Frank. They adored each other, and as you can tell, they still do.' She patted his head distractedly. 'It rocked everyone to have Frank and Magenta leave at the same time - but no one suffered more than my Dax. He was so unhappy, crying, shouting because he was so angry, lethargic, not wanting to do anything. And as a mother, all you want is for your child to be happy and when you can't provide that, it's...'

'I really hope you won't be offended.' Sprite wasn't sure whether to say this, but she needed to ask. 'Did you not feel jealous? Inadequate, even? That Frank had bonded so well with him - perhaps in the way you should have?'

Vienna nodded solemnly. 'It was hard. I felt like I wanted to be angry with him. "I'm right here!", I felt like saying. "I'm your mother, why aren't you happy that you still have me? Would you rather we swapped, and I went instead of him?"'

So it wasn't just her. It seemed like everyone had suffered both the extreme highs and the miserable lows of having a relationship with Frank. A very difficult man to love.

'But he was only young, even littler than he is now. He didn't know how to think like that, and it wasn't his fault.'

'Well things seem to be better now.'

Sprite nodded towards Dax, who had almost fallen asleep again. But they both couldn't help thinking - would she have lost her son entirely if Frank had stayed?

'I'm glad you came up actually, I wanted to talk to you.' Vienna sat forwards, helping Dax to lie comfortably. 'I heard what happened. I think the whole street heard what happened. For a moment I really feared - are you okay?'

Sprite smoothed her hair nervously. 'I'm fine. It was just - I don't deal with my emotions very well. But it's over now, so.' She shrugged.

'You know, I almost don't want to leave.' All was silent then. 'Or at least, to take you with me. How is Frank with you, honestly, in general terms?'

'Fine,' she lied.

'He hasn't tried to... he hasn't lost his temper, or...?'

'Well he does get angry easily. But he's never done anything more than shout.' Vienna didn't believe her. It was clear on her face. 'Why,' Sprite asked, flipping the conversation away from herself, 'has anything ever happened to you?'

She started. By then it was clear that both knew the other - and perhaps every single person who'd ever had a relationship with Frank - was under the same unofficial oath of secrecy.

'No,' said Vienna. 'No, of course not.' Sprite stood up, signalling she was about to leave. 'He's a very physical being, that's all.'

'I'll let you get some rest, then.' Sprite quietly opened the door. 'Did you see where Magenta went?'

'She's upstairs, I think. Fourth floor, I should imagine, she keeps all her medical kits there.'

Oh. She really had hurt Remi then. More severely than Sprite first thought.

'Okay. Good night, Vienna.' She smiled. 'Sleep well.'

'Thank you, darling, and to you.'

Sprite eased the door closed. Little Dax had begun to snore. She should have stayed. Asked to sleep in Vienna's room, resting in a chair didn't bother her. Or gone in with Orchid, no doubt she would have loved to have Sprite as her little spoon. Or even, if she was really selfish, crept back in with Frank. She needn't say anything - slip into the room, climb back into bed, and sooner or later, Frank would wrap his arms around her and off to sleep she'd go.

She couldn't do that. She wanted to, but she couldn't. Not so soon. Not while that white-hot curling iron was still in there. She had to prove (to Frank or to herself?) that she had _some_ dignity left.

So she went for Magenta instead. Unsure where she would be or who would be with her, but at least she could say she tried. No one said she had to try _hard_ \- but everyone gets credit for trying.

She wandered aimlessly about the castle, looking for a reason to say she got distracted. Not for the first time, she wished Riff Raff were here. She needed his clear, level head at times like this.

The floor creaked under her feet, the wind wailed and groaned, rattling the dusty windows something fierce and creating an almighty draft within the endless diamond sky. Great black holes stood gaping from the many dangerous, unstable areas of rotting wood, and somewhere, somehow, it was always leaking.

It seemed to be the further up one goes, the worse the conditions became. The girls sleeping a few floors down probably weren't aware of any of this. Frank know how to cover up almost everything - even if it was right under your nose, or hiding under the stairs. Plus, Frank's presence could turn even the most run-down, inhospitable places into a luxurious palace.

But Frank was absent, now. So it was a shithole.

Just how old was this place? Had the castle been built specifically for them, or had they conducted a hostile take-over of a conveniently located castle for themselves? How long _had_ they been here, working on...this? Was this their first time on Earth, or had they used this place like a time-share, re-locating permanently by authoritarian force?

One thing Sprite never ran out of here was the questions.

In the distance, a door creaked open and shackled closed. Sprite flung herself into the nearest hiding place (behind a battered old bookcase filled with real books this time) and waited, hardly daring to breathe, for the mystery people to saunter down the hall.

No one talked. Frustrating. Were their footsteps distinguishable? One pair seemed a little off-beat with the other -perhaps Magenta was accompanying Orchid back to her room, limping in the way she sometimes did. Sprite never stopped worrying about that. Both walkers sounded to be in high-heeled shoes, but that was as much use as a chocolate teapot in this context. In fact, once the footsteps had gotten closer, it sounded less like limping and more like _hefting_ , like one was holding the other up rather than two people walking.

And that's when she saw them.

It was not Magenta who had the irregular footsteps, but Remi. Remi who was still here. Remi who looked to be in a world of pain, who was now trapped here (once you find yourself bound to here, the ties never really break) and who was the luckiest girl in the world for having Magenta by her side rather than Frank.

Sprite pressed herself further against the bookcase, biting her lip to hold back a shriek of unbearable guilt.

Remi hobbled along on one foot (the other raised above the ground, twisted and blue) while Magenta bore most of her weight. One eye had blackened, the other streamed something terrible. Her clothes were torn, Sprite had left claw marks and red hand-prints over her upper body. Sprite looked away in misery as Magenta set her long fingers to Remi's jaw, setting it back in place with a series of sickening cracks.

The pain became too much for her then, for the poor girl simply gave up. She sat down on the floor, cross-legged, and decided she wasn't moving again.

'Not,' she said in an awful, gritty, exhausted interpretation of the voice that used to be, 'until you get me a phone. I have to leave here, I have to go home. I don't care about what happened, I don't care about pressing charges. Just help me get home.'

Magenta knelt down herself at Remi's level, kindly exasperated. 'It's like I told you.' Her accent didn't seem so harsh anymore. 'I will get you home, but did you honestly think I would let you go like that? You should be thanking me. Or would you rather drag your ruined legs through the dry undergrowth?'

Magenta was Magenta, but she could be Frank if she wanted to.

'We only have one phone and it isn't mobile. I don't know where you live and you won't tell me. How do you propose we tackle this problem?

'It will hurt,' she continued, 'but you'll be glad you suffered when you're in safe hands at the hospital, or even better, sound asleep in your own bed. Unless we put you up here for the night?'

'No!' Sprite almost yelled it too, but clamped her hands over her mouth. 'I know I'm making things difficult.' She shifted, wincing and hissing at the pain. 'But I can't stay anywhere if I know that schizo is close by. To think I used to call her my best friend. I never want to see that bitch again.'

 _Well, good_ , Sprite found herself thinking, _I never want to see you again either._ She swiped angrily at a fallen tear. _Not in here._

'Come on now. Home stretch.' Magenta arose and held out both hands. Remi reluctantly took them and heaved herself up. Her very bones seemed to be creaking, clanking, rubbing together within their sockets. 'Good girl. This way.'

Magenta helped Remi stay standing whilst she slumped against the wall, fighting to catch her breath before they set off again. Neither of them knew Sprite could see them. This was not an act to gain sympathy, this was not an exaggeration to make Sprite feel bad. This was the genuine state of her once-best friend - and Sprite had almost killed her.

Familiar arms snaked around her waist. Strong and firm and far too capable.

'Shhh,' Frank purred before she could react, 'no screaming. We can't let them know you're here. It will kill Magenta.'

She flinched, stifling a miserable groan at such an unwelcome thought.

'She's awfully disappointed in you, flower.' His warm hands kept a painful grip on her narrow hips. 'I've been tasked with keeping you away from her, per her request. Imagine her finding you now, skulking with those watchful eyes, savouring the pride of your own success.'

'I'm not-.'

'Hush now, I said none of that, my love.'

They were undergoing the gruelling process of distributing the weight to make the rest of the walk less painful.

'Are you proud of yourself?' She shook her head. 'Do you regret what you've done?' She nodded. 'Given the chance, would you take it back?' This time, she paused before giving a slightly smaller nod of the head. Frank, of course, caught on immediately. Any opportunity to make her squirm.

He tutted reproachfully, removing one hand from the vice on her pelvis and, instead, beginning to pet her hair.

'Modesty achieved nothing for no one.'

He brushed his lips along the slender curve of her neck, curling into a smirk as he felt her pulse - racing away under her skin. His teeth grazed her ear the next time he spoke.

'I want the truth, this time.'

Sprite hung her head first, feeling her cheeks blaze and her hands tremble. Then, as lying merely delayed the inevitable, she dropped her shoulders submissively, shaking her head in defeat.

'That's more like it.' Frank smirked against her skin. 'She deserved it. Hmm? How dare she say such things, how dare she attempt to take you away? You've been under my wing for six months now, did any of them try to contact you? Had any of them gone looking for you? In fact, who was it that abandoned my poor, helpless little mouse in the pouring rain? Remember how scared you were? How vulnerable? How...angry?'

'Yes I was angry,' Sprite whispered, 'but you were prepared to punish me, you said what I did was wrong-.'

'Last warning,' Frank murmured. 'I'll show Magenta you're here if you talk out of turn again.' She hung her head even lower. 'Look, that's them coming this way,' Frank nodded towards the pair, who had just managed to prepare Remi for the last big push. 'Do you want your Magenta to know you've been watching them?'

Sprite shook her head desperately.

'Then walk away, little mouse. Turn around and pretend you were never here. Snuggle up in bed and put it all from your mind.'

How she wished she could explain.

Sprite reluctantly started to walk away, but stopped before she turned her back.

'She gets home,' Sprite begged with all the conviction she could muster. ' _Safely_.'

Frank chuckled, shaking his head. 'Little mouse, you may be fearful of me at times but let me ask you this: have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?' Frank smirked in the silence. 'Your little friend will be fine. I'll take care of her.' He nodded in the direction of her bedroom. 'Off to bed then, darling.'

She maintained eye contact for a few more seconds, at war with herself on what to do. Yes, Frank _seemed_ genuine - he stood there, unphased by her reluctance to move, smirking, those eyes burning right through to her soul. No matter the circumstances, Sprite always felt naked in front of Frank. But _could_ she trust him? Could she be so selfish, so naive as to walk away without ensuring the safety of her oldest friend? Could she manage the additional stress of this on top of everything else?

Well, perhaps that was just it. It wasn't her responsibility to feel guilty. Remi turned up out of the blue and tried to act like nothing had changed, what did she think was going to happen? Sprite had her reasons, it was all justifiable there in her head. Things would only affect her if she let them.

Frank wanted to teach her that all along. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the voice of reason said, _then he can punish you in his own way._

For now, she pushed that thought down. With reluctance, Sprite turned away for the final time and meandered down to the familiar comfort of her own bedroom.

'Beaux!' Sprite stared, wide-eyed, at the human standing in the corner of the room. The moonlight filtered into the room behind her, turning her into a mute silhouette. She came forwards after Sprite's exclamation, but did nothing to appear less unnerving. 'What are you doing in here?'

The broken silver band of her treasured bracelet winked at her from between Beaux's delicate fingers. 'I found this in Frank's room. I thought it might be yours.'

'Yes, it is mine. Thank you, but-.'

'Did Frank give this to you?'

Sprite blinked. The obvious concern in Beaux's expression was very much unwelcome.

'Yes,' she said. 'Why?'

'It's broken.'

'Yes I can see that-.'

'You can't leave him now,' Beaux declared solemnly. 'I'm assuming that's what you wanted. You broke this on purpose?'

Sprite's heart sank. How could there be yet another ominous component she knew nothing about?

'What? No, of course I didn't break it on purpose, why-?'

Beaux's expression didn't change. She didn't appear to feel guilty or sympathetic, or anything at all, really. Sprite knew moving from one galaxy to another put monumental strain on the human body, but surely it wasn't normal to be _this_ vacant?

'This is a quintessence hoop. We present them to another who is - at the time - the giver's favourite partner. You can see this one is Frank's, it has his initial engraved on the back.' She turned the dainty pendant to show the curly-swirly letter instead of the class symbol on the other side. Beaux lifted the hem of her dress, continuing, 'I wear mine on my ankle. I have my Astra's and she has mine.' The yellow-gold band glinted softly in the moonlight. She lowered the hem. 'Of course, these are not _permanent_. You can choose when to wear them, take them off, swap them.'

Sprite's patience ran out. 'Yes, Beaux, this is all very wonderful but I'm tired and your not making an awful lot of sense-.'

'The concept is that these are supposed to be able to be passed on when the time comes.' Beaux spoke quite patiently. 'Each Transylvanian is only issued one. Therefore if it's lost - or broken, like yours is - Frank can't give this to anybody else. He can't replace you with anybody else.'

Time seemed to slow down a little bit then. The shock, the disbelief, the stupidity. It came in too much, too fast.

'It was selfish of you, but you got what you wanted.' Sprite seemed to be hovering above herself, watching the scene unfold as a helpless observer. 'You were the last person to receive Frank's gift. He's stuck with you know, whether he likes it or not.'

Sprite began to deny it. Surely that wasn't true, they weren't even living in Frank's home, the rules didn't apply here. He would have to go back to his own planet eventually, they couldn't refuse him entry because of a thing like that. She didn't have a hoop to give _him_ , it needed to work both ways before it became official.

But Beaux was having none of it. She was adamant that once that hoop is fastened, the law is binding. No matter the circumstances, and certainly no exceptions.

'Why can't you just fix it?' Sprite felt herself getting upset. 'Glue it together or something! This - this is so stupid!'

'It doesn't work that way.' Beaux composure was infuriating. Sprite didn't have to listen to a word she said, she wasn't even a native. She probably didn't have a clue what she was talking about, she never normally did. 'Bottom line is, Sprite, Frank owns you. Body and soul.'

Sprite challenged Baudelaire again. She explained how Frank had seen the broken chain before Beaux, and said nothing. If this was of such magnitude, why choose not to address it?

'I suppose it must serve him well. He can have his freedom to choose who he spends time with, where he goes, what he does. You are condemned to follow. And there's nothing you can do about that.'

Sprite took a deep breath. 'I'd like you to leave.'

Beaux has the audacity to appear shocked. 'Why do you-?'

'Get out of my room!'

She left without questioning her authority twice. Sprite fell into bed, covering her eyes against the harsh glare of moonlight.

Once again, she wished Riff Raff were here.

* * *

Sprite was not the only one to awaken without her night-time companion. Vienna came to herself slowly, peacefully, stretching and writing about the soft bedclothes as she began to wake up. The inside of her eyelids reddened with the glow of the sun (the sun! It was so strange - she expected it would always be night here) and with reluctance, she blinked them open.

The peace went away as if she'd been stabbed. Where was Dax?

This was right where she left him - here, upon the now empty mattress beside her, because Transylvanians never slept alone - but now he'd gone.

She told herself to calm down. She knew where he would be. Who he'd choose. But after such a long time of not having to compete, the surprise was much more fresh.

She swung her brown legs out of bed and padded to Frank's room. The door didn't squeak, thank goodness, and Vienna's suspicions were confirmed.

They had both fallen asleep, actually. Dax laid high up on Frank's chest, his glossy brown head resting closer to Frank's neck. With Frank's arm draped loosely around him, Dax has no danger of rolling too far. Everyone knew of Dax's tendency to fall out of bed. Frank seemed to be more dozing, eyes closed but still fluttering. A smear of dark lipstick remained where Frank had kissed Dax on the forehead.

Vienna didn't know how long they'd been laying like this. Dax was her own son, and she didn't even realise when he crept out of the room. It could have been hours - who's to say he didn't sneak off right when Vienna fell asleep? When Dax could go to his favourite without having to please the other anymore?

Again, Vienna battled anger. The same dull ache she felt when explaining her feelings to Sprite.

This wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

Frank inhaled sharply in what can only be described as a snore, before his eyes fluttered open. 'Oh,' he said with a pleasant lilt of surprise in his voice. 'Good morning, Vienna.' He pulled the covers back with a sleepy smile. 'There's room for one more, if we breathe in.'

She stuck out her tongue half-heartedly. Then, nodding towards her son, 'How long has he been out?'

'Mmm, an hour or two.' He had a monster stretch, a cat-like yawn escaping him. 'Tugged my hair to wake me. He couldn't settle in a strange house, poor thing.'

I was there, she thought with gritted teeth. I was right there...

'Come in, Vienna, I'm serious. It'll be hours yet before anyone wakes up. Especially my Lessie,' he chuckled, 'she could probably sleep through an earthquake.'

'She came to me last night.'

Frank started. 'She did? What did she say?'

'Nothing important. She was clearly shaken up, she just needed a normal conversation.' A smile tugged at Vienna's lips now, too. 'Dax was scared of her.'

Frank guffawed.

'Well not _scared_ , just - wary, I suppose. He'll gain more confidence though, won't he?'

'Of course he will, darling.' Vienna finally took the bait and sidled up next to Frank. 'Your Dax is a little star, and you are doing an amazing job.'

She didn't know why, but she burst into tears.

'Oh, Vienna! Darling, I didn't mean to make you-!'

'I'm sorry,' she cried, 'it's just that - I'm scared, Frank, I never know if I'm doing where best for him. He's getting older now and he understands more about - this.' She made a sweeping gesture. 'And you. And time, and commitments, and punishments, and-!' She covered her mouth, drawing a painful breath. 'Children will listen. He knows more than I think he knows, and it upsets him, I can see that. He's not been himself for so long and - it pains me to say this, but sometimes I think he might be better off if he stayed here with-.'

'Oh, now, now,' Frank scolded her. 'Utter nonsense, do you hear me? A boy _needs_ his mother, Vienna. What could you possibly not be providing him?'

She shrugged helplessly. 'I just miss you so much.' The crying worsened, leaning her head against his shoulder. 'Please come home soon, Frank. We can't stand it much longer without you.'

Frank comforted her as best he could without waking Dax. Vienna didn't care much for sympathetic crooning, she preferred strong answers, motivational responses, something to gear her up and get her going. Although everyone was partial to a few gentle kisses now and then. He reminded her, firmly, that every parent goes through this, every parent worries and stresses and thinks everyone else has it together except them.

'I mean, look at me with my Lessie!' Frank began, keen to reassure her with similar experiences. 'Do you not think there's been times where I've lain awake all night worrying, where I've gotten angry or upset or scared? Petrified, even? I don't know what I'm doing anymore then you or any other caregiver does because we're _all_ new to this. There's no classes to take or manuals to read. Trust me, Vienna.' He teased the nape of her neck, making her laugh. 'You're doing _fine_.'

'What about coming home?'

His expression softened. 'As soon as I can, my love. I want it _desperately_ , but we both know it's not that easy.' She sighed into the crook of his neck. 'For what it's worth,' he murmured, 'I miss you more.'

She giggled. 'Impossible.'

'Not.'

'Is.'

'Not.'

'Is.'

' _Not..._ '

She giggled again, lightly punching his shoulder. 'Sprite adores you, you know.'

A flame of excitement flickered in Frank's breast. Where had that come from?

'You think so?'

'Mm-hmm. She idolises you.' Vienna sat up with one final deep sigh. 'She's mortified, though, after what occurred last night. She'll need a bit of encouragement, because I do want to see her once more before we go.'

Dax stirred for the first time, whimpering in his sleep.

'Why don't you stay here - keep the sheets warm for me,' Frank winked, 'and I'll have a talk with my own little one. Hopefully once everyone has woken up, we'll have sorted us _both_ out. Hmm?'

She nodded.

Frank kissed her cheek, slid _under_ the sheets and out from the foot of the bed rather than disturbing Vienna (something about this really tickled her) but stopped before crossing the doorway.

'Magenta likes to make a huge spread for breakfast. Anything his lordship likes in particular?

She shrugged. 'He'll eat anything you put in front of him. I'd like a lot of variety though. I want him to try new things.'

Frank smirked. 'Pig's blood it is, then.'

* * *

Sprite couldn't stay away from Magenta.

She didn't believe what Frank had said at all, and it turns out she was right - Magenta clapped her up in a huge hug on sight, and only got a little angry when Sprite told her everything. They now stood beside one another, dicing various pieces of fruit.

'Sprite, for crying out loud, _please_ be careful with that knife, Magenta said as her tiny fingers slipped her again whilst cutting the pineapple. ' _I_ will be meeting the business end of that if you hurt yourself with it.'

Sprite sighed, rolling her eyes playfully. 'Of course, mother. Diligence is key.'

Sprite had taken to calling Magenta 'mother' recently. They always chuckled, but it wasn't funny. Not at all.

Magenta wanted to know what Sprite thought of her friends.

'I think they're great.' The hoop conversation sprung to the front of her mind again. 'I like them - however I do think I'd have to see them in small doses. I just hope they like me.'

'Sylvie, how could anyone not like you?'

Sprite heart picked up again. 'Well, I know _one_ person who doesn't...'

Magenta sighed at her watermelon. 'Frank asked me not to talk about that.'

'He told me you didn't want to see me because of it.'

'What?' Magenta threw her knife down, furious. 'Why does he always do that?'

'Do-?'

'Uses me, as a way to get to you? It's such a wicked thing to do, I can't stand it.' She ran her hands through her hair to calm herself. 'Well obviously that wasn't true - that never will be true, you understand? - and if he's going to cross me like that I shall do the same to him.' She clasped Sprite's shoulders. 'What do you want to know?'

'Everything,' Sprite said. 'She got home? Safe? She won't be coming back, she won't suffer long from her injuries? I won't get in trouble, will I, for hurting her like that? You don't think any less of me? Oh please tell me you don't.' She paused before adding, 'You know I didn't mean to, right?'

Magenta frowned thoughtfully. 'Hmm. Okay let me see if I can do this right. Yes, yes, hopefully not, definitely not, I don't think so, I could never...' she bit her lip, and for the first time ever, broke her intense eye contact with Sprite. 'And I would like to say yes. If you didn't remind me so much of Frank when you talk like that.'

An indivisible man sauntered along and slammed a rough fist into Sprite's stomach. 'What?'

'"I didn't mean to. I didn't want to do it. I didn't have a choice". You might regret your actions now, but you knew what you were doing. And that's not me telling you off,' Magenta spoke quickly before Sprite could get upset, 'that's just how I view things. Everything is black and white to me. I can't accept those types of excuses anymore.'

Sprite didn't like it, but she completely understood.

They prepared the spread in silence for the next few moments, until Sprite remembered something else.

'Magenta?'

'Hmm?'

'Do you think you could fix my bracelet? It got snapped last night.'

'I'll have Riff repair it for you.' The waffle and pancake batter went in next. 'He'll be back this time tomorrow.'

'Doesn't seem like a big deal.'

'It's not. It's only a bracelet.' Magenta turned to scrutinise Sprite. 'Sylvie, are you okay? Ever since you came down you've been acting really weird.'

'Yes, it's just...' she made a conscious decision: don't discuss the bracelet. Diverting the subject, she said, 'Vienna didn't seem to know who Riff Raff was. It struck me as kind of strange. Could it be that he doesn't like fleeting guests either?'

The sibling adjusted her hair with sticky batter still on her hands. 'In the nicest way, that's none of your business.' She tried to smile, but it wasn't the same. 'There's a lot going on between the three of us, Sprite, I won't lie to you. But please trust me when I say I'll never lie to you about things you need to know.'

To confirm, no one except the fantastic four under this roof knew of Riff Raff's existence.

Sprite distracted herself by picking through the assorted berries. 'Do you miss him?'

'He's my brother. It's like I've lost an arm when he isn't here. I know he's not terribly social but the presence is always comforting.' She gave the fresh waffles a fine dusting of icing sugar. 'What about you?'

Sprite tried not to go red here. 'Well...yes, I suppose I do. A little. It's hard to miss someone who's hardly ever around, but that presence you mentioned is very-.'

A sudden high-pitched cackle startled them both. Magenta merely twitched (queen of composure) while Sprite sent every last berry flying.

'Oh I wish he wouldn't laugh so loudly,' Sprite murmured, trembling a little as she began picking them up (Magenta staring dejectedly at the volume of scattered Small Things). 'Why does he always do that? It's driving me insane...'

'Would you look at that.' Frank skipped around the corner, grinning broadly about something. 'Lessie's awake! Don't worry too much about that darling, just try not to step on them. Five second rule and all that...'

Frank took her hand and led her away. Just to a small alcove of the dark kitchen, but obvious enough to spark her anxiety.

'You mustn't look so _frightened_ , little one.' He tickled her under the chin. All that frowning isn't good for your complexion!'

Sprite babbled, 'If you going to shout at me, please can you just do it now, I'm really not in the mood for-.'

'What? I'm not going to shout at you, Lessie. Why would I do that?'

She blinked. 'Well, because... because-.'

'Because you promise to learn from your mistakes, be thankful that your friend is safe at home, and never do anything as imprudent as that ever again?'

She flushed. Yes, that was it.

Frank made it clear that he didn't want to hear of that incident any longer. He then went on to explain how the rest of the day would pan out - the girls (and Dax) would enjoy Magenta's famous spread together, do as little or as much as they pleased ('For they _are_ our guests, after all.') and come two o'clock they would leave them to their solitude, for a very long time.

'And I want _you_ ,' Frank gently rapped the end of her nose with his finger, 'to be present all day. No whining, no sulking, no slipping off to the bathroom and never coming back.' He smiled. 'Promise?'

She attempted to smile back. Frank almost suffocated her with one of his bear hugs, so it must have worked.

'Oh, and,' he brushed her hair away from her face, 'I haven't forgotten my promise to you. Have a think about what you'd like and come to me at the end of the day. Okay?'

It took her a moment to catch on.

Ohh. Right. This thing. Sit, speak and roll over, good girl, have a treat. It should have disgusted her, but her inner spoilt child came out. Anything...?

Well, that was Orchid coming down the stairs, judging by the marching band's worth of noise. Perhaps a loud, happy, exuberant start would be better. All those smiles - she couldn't help but get excited!

* * *

Frank would not be disturbed for hours after they left. He wasn't shut up in the lab, or putting his face on, or sleeping. Sprite knew where he was, only in the library. But she also knew he was crying, so respectfully left him alone.

It hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd anticipated. As before, she had been content to listen (and had been settled in Frank's lap, which was always a good thing) and the time had passed fairly quickly. Breakfast was wonderful, the relationship between Frank and Dax was a joy to watch, and the girls always made an effort to include her in the conversation. However Sprite felt her contributions were peanuts in comparison to the stories they had to tell.

And (for a while, at least) she'd been happy.

Until they had to go.

 _She_ didn't mind sending them on their intergalactic departure - don't be stupid! - although she felt a little sad as she hugged Orchid goodbye, let Vienna pepper her with motherly kisses, and gave Beaux an awkward sort of handshake. And Frank, while sad, had been this way too.

But then Dax had begun to cry.

They had all been expecting it, little children hate to see people they love going away. In fact, when Sprite herself was little, she would cry whoever she saw anyone holding a suitcase. She had come to equate that with a long time away from safety.

It was fine at first. Everyone cooed and simpered, trying to soothe him whilst explain things to him properly (all he understood at that age was that he wasn't allow to see Frank whenever he wanted, and that was unfair). And perhaps that unjust feeling turned to anger, for soon after he had locked his arms around Frank's waist, crying, and wouldn't let go.

Then things started to get hysterical.

Frank had silent tears of his own trickling from his eyes as he tried to prise him away. It must have killed him to do it, what with the little one already being so upset, but Frank understood the bigger picture, and understood that he needed to go. Dax wouldn't even glance at Vienna, which of course set her off. Sprite could see the urge to get angry with him, to shout 'I don't want you anyway!', and leave without her son, was getting stronger. Orchid, Beaux, Magenta, even Sprite herself all tried to reason with the boy, to calm him down, to bribe him with treats or promises. But he wouldn't have it. And at that age, the girls knew, you're not competent enough to understand your feelings, you just know you're feeling it. And with a reaction as strong as that, over the thought of _waiting_ to see Frank again... Sprite got choked up thinking about the mental strain that boy had put himself under.

Sprite doubted she'd ever forget it. That scene was just awful.

She didn't even need to understand the words to get the raw emotion behind him. The adults spoke firmly and loudly, while Dax shrunk in farther, tighter, and continued to sob.

'I don't _want_ to go!' Sprite heard the phrase in her own childish voice as clear as ever. 'You can't make me!'

In the end, Frank had to put his foot down.

' _Dax! Calm down!'_ Sprite asked Magenta to translate this afterwards, it broke her heart. ' _Stop this foolishness at once, and listen to your mother! There's no reason to believe you won't visit me again, and there's no reason to get yourself into such a state!'_ Frank softened a little bit: trying to be firm yet fair was a tall order. ' _Now, go and say goodbye to Magenta, like a good boy, and I'll take you outside. If you promise me you're going to behave yourself, and be happy when you're at home, perhaps your mother will let me make a screen call with you. Hmm?_ '

He didn't like it, but begrudgingly stepped away. He gave Magenta a half hearted hug, followed by a less-than-petrified glance towards Sprite.

The girls left then, after a few more blown kisses and teary smiles. Magenta went straight to her room, trembling - she didn't want to be disturbed. Sprite wandered around, wondering if she had gone into shock, until Frank came back in. She rushed to him at first, but he looked even worse that Magenta did. Dangerously worse. She thought it strange that he retired to the library, but didn't question it. She took herself off to her own room instead. She lay there, staring at the walls, the music box, the fluorescent stars on which lived on her ceiling, and thought about what it must be like to love someone _that_ much.

What side-affects that might bring.

But that was hours ago. And she was bored and she was rested and she was getting inside her own head again. Frank could be found in the library, still, but curled up and in a restless sleep. He didn't look comfortable at all, the sofa was far too small to accommodate his lanky body. The contrast affected Sprite even more - so accustomed, was she, to seeing him in a deep, satisfied, content sleep that this image caused knots in her stomach.

She couldn't stand to see him like this.

The patchy makeup, the matted hair, the ill-fitting clothing. He looked this way most of the time (haphazard and rugged and effortless) but it was the _mistake_ that made it pitiful. He hadn't chosen to appear like this today. For anyone to see him. Yet here he was, unconscious, defenceless, and broken for the world to see.

Sprite extended her own trembling hand and lightly brushed Frank's shoulder.

He gripped her wrist in a flash, awake and alert and snarling, _glaring_ at her cowering form with the same intensity that he seized her wrist.

One tiny squeak came out.

He relaxed as soon as he recognised her. That was one intense dream.

In fact, he softened so much he want the opposite way, frowning, lip quivering, one hundred per cent liable to cry again.

'Oh, it's you,' he mumbled. 'I'm sorry, darling, I didn't-.'

'No, Frankie, it's just - well, I-.' She grimaced helplessly. What could she say now? 'Will...you be okay?'

An exhausted smile curved across his mouth. 'Of course I will, my love.' He sighed. 'I just need a hug.'

Well. Sprite never thought she'd hear him talk like that.

Nevertheless, she made herself at home, despite the damp velvet and flushed skin. They needed the silence for a while - soothing fingers in her hair, allowing the breathing to calm down - before she had to address it.

'Frankie, you're trembling...'

'I'll be alright, lamb, don't worry about me.' It scared her sometimes, how gentle he could be. The kisses on her fingertips were barely there at all. Slightly ticklish, incredibly soothing and the most wonderful sensation. And Frank could be this gentle with her all the time - he just chose not to 'I've got my animals, I've got my purpose and I've got you. I don't need anything else.'

The familiar smell of him started to come back. 'He must love you a lot.'

They didn't need confirmation. 'More than anything.' He tweaked her ear as if to say _except you, of course_. 'It breaks my heart having to send him away, every time. It doesn't get any easier.'

'This might be the last time.'

He gave a real smile this time. 'Might be.'

'I did enjoy meeting the girls. Never met anyone quite like them.' She ducked her head, a little bashful. 'But I won't be doing it again anytime soon.'

Frank chuckled, promising that they wouldn't receive any more visitors for a long time. Everything, finally, would go back to normal.

They enjoyed each other's presence for a while - Sprite compulsively picking at the small rhinestones, Frank languidly trading her curves - until Frank spoke again.

'I couldn't do it, if I ever had to part from you.' She felt the shudder run through him. 'Heaven forbid anything like that should happen, but... I couldn't go on if anything happened to you.'

'Frankie, don't say that.' He needed to throw this corset away. Runny, black tears and Sprite's restless fingers had ruined it. 'You were fine before me, and you'll be fine after me. I know they'll come a day when you'll prove all those people wrong, and get to go back home.' Her voice quietened. 'And I'm not stupid. I'm fine with enjoying it while it lasts.'

Frank held her face in both hands, tilting her head up to see him staring as incredulously as he was.

'Do you really think I would leave you behind?'

Sprite could have exploded with happiness that day. She daydreamed to herself all night - jetting off amongst the stars, learning the language, allowing the most strange place to swallow her whole and enjoying the sensation.

For ignorance - as they say - is bliss.

* * *

 **Catch** **me living my best life at the theatre in March I actually cannot wait I am going to explode. Rice and toast at the ready.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Could it be...that I...am pulling everything back together?**

 **Reviewers! My old faithfuls and some brand spanking new ones, you know who you are. I would thank you personally, but it's almost midnight and I have work tomorrow lmao.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Sprite took Frank into the private room soon after. She led him there, by the hand, and gave permission to do what he had to do to feel better. Frank, amazingly, did nothing but protest at first.

'I'm fine, baby,' he would say. 'You mustn't worry about me. It's very thoughtful of you, little mouse, and I appreciate your concern, but everything's going to be alright. You believe that, don't you?'

Yes, but he needed... something. His voice was far too thick and strained for her liking. His eyelids drooped in between words - fighting sleep, it seemed. The true depth of the relationship he had with Dax clearly surpassed all expectation - and would never, ever, be disclosed.

Sprite shivered. If he became this bad after loosing Dax, imagine the state of him after Riff Raff destroyed his person! Or even worse... if he ever lost her. At least, the only upside, she wouldn't be around to witness that.

'Frankie...' she wrapped her arms around his neck, hoisting herself up to straddle his waist. His arms trembled beneath her weight. 'I can't leave you like this, pretending everything is okay. Please let me help you. I don't mind, if that's what you're worried about!' She poured every once of truth and conviction to convince him to accept the assistance. 'I know it gets rid of all... this, and helps you be yourself again.' She pouted. 'Please, Frankie?'

Frank sighed, shaking his head at her. His face stayed neutral - his eyes, however, were blazing.

'What would your Magenta say if she could see you like this...' he brought up one hand to stroke her hair behind her ear. With the other arm, he very nearly dropped her. 'Luring me into dark bedrooms, tempting me, seducing me...' he broke out into a smirk this time. 'She ought to think you've gone morally corrupt.'

But, as even the strongest walls crumbled with age, he turned and deposited her onto the bed.

' _You_ are a pest,' he teased, kissing the top of her head. 'Don't tell Columbia you've been spoiled like this, I'll never here the end of it.'

Sprite frowned. Did she not just say this was all for him?

Then, upon seeing him search through the tall wardrobe, selecting the toys he liked, it all made sense.

Of course he needed this from her. Not that he'd ever admit that.

Which led to her lying there some hours later, prone, exhausted, somewhere between entrance and exit, wondering how on earth she would be able to move after this one. Frank was still going, of course - gently, now that he sensed she was nearing the end. The left hand working tirelessly away down south, the other scratching, tickling and squeezing anywhere within reach. He kissed her in languid, slow movements, nipping about the chest, sucking on the neck, pressing firm, lingering kisses to every inch of her bare figure.

She was so far gone she didn't even squirm. She sighed, moaning, eyes fluttering half-open in a half-drunk daze. Spaced out on sensation.

Everything throbbed with a slight dull ache, her hands twitched occasionally but couldn't move much past the bruising underneath those handcuffs. Nothing else quite had the energy to respond to neurological commands. The slightest shift from her pelvis earned a growl and harsh pressure from Frank. Her whole torso would look like a handprint at this rate. Lolling her head to one side, the discarded riding crop lay just visible in sight - accented with the pink sensation wheel and two or three vibrating love eggs.

Those were the best.

The blindfold lay just by her feet, just below the ball gag which wasn't removed from it's hook in the end. It was mostly soundproof down here - there was no need to be quiet. That, and (although Frank would never admit it and lynch her if she ever suggested it) Frank needed her presence this time. He needed reminding that she was there.

She slipped into some variation of sleep when he pressed his lips against her. A moan escaped her, even so, as his tongue wandered in an out. When she phased back in, it seemed Frank had finally had enough too. He had to move her limbs around to slot her alongside him.

Not done quite yet, still moving a little, still feeling the effects of her stimulation. She couldn't dream of opening her eyes, and had to settle for feeling the well-defined torso to make sure it was still Frank. Her voice came out thick, tired and gritty.

'Tell Baudelaire to stay the fuck out of my room.' Her fuzzy brain thought it was yesterday.

'Hush, lamb. No talking. You must be exhausted, you need to rest now.'

'I need to be downstairs, otherwise Vienna will-.'

'Shhh, little mouse. The girls will be fine. Now you take a few moments to pull yourself together.'

It was even harder to speak coherently with those long-nailed fingers running through her hair. Frank continued to sing to her, lips gently caressing her forehead as he crooned. While not quite in sleep, Sprite was too far gone to hope for anything else.

And far too soon, the dreaded forehead kiss came.

'Frankie has to go now,' he murmured against her skin. 'Will you be alright here on your own?' She nodded sleepily. 'Do you remember how to get out?'

Oh, that one was easy. Step on the tile facing the wrong way round and the far wall will open. Because what looks like just another section of wallpaper is actually a door. Go through it, and you'll come out to a set of darkened stairs, which you must climb until you see the rectangle of yellow light shining from the black wall. Feel around for the door handle, give it a push and the wall with swing inward to invite you through to the newly empty cupboard. The one with noises in its stomach. Open _that_ door, and you're back inside the house. To get back through, there was an incredibly faded handprint you had to push against. It felt like rolling a ball around with your hand, and you had to press it dead centre - if the mechanism tilted, squashed or simply missed the release switch, it wouldn't work. But it would grind and shriek and moan - and then everyone would know what you were up to, this defeating the object of the 'private room' in the first place.

She explained all this, and nodded again.

'You clever girl.'

'Don't go,' she tried to hold on to him, but her arms just slipped off. 'Why do you always leave me?'

'Oh, you mustn't say that.' Frank scolded lightly. 'I would never leave you, ever. I made a promise.' He eyed her a little reproachfully. 'You knew this would be difficult. Frankie can't be with you all the time - I've got my own things to do just as you have yours. But you know where I am if you need anything, and all you have to do is ask.'

'I want to go to sleep.'

Frank shook his head, chuckling. 'Close your eyes then, like a good girl. Columbia will be back by the time you wake up. Oh, and', he adjusted her hair from her face one last time, 'now that I've had what I want, you can have what you want. Remember what I said? Anything your heart desires, you just say the word and it's yours. Hmm?' The whites were visible through her half- closed eyelids. 'You have a think about that one and tell Frankie later. It's only once, so make it a good one.

He did lean down once more, mouth placed against her ear, to whisper one last thing.

'Thank you, darling.'

* * *

Frank lied. No one was there when Sprite woke up at all.

Had she even been asleep? She didn't remember. But all of a sudden everything clicked back into place. She had officially come down from her otherworldly high and that was good enough for her.

It couldn't have been for long. It was still light outside.

She couldn't hear anything from down here either. The only scenery in the room consisted of various discarded toys, accessories and clothes. Torn fishnets here, a broken shoe there.

A shoe that - hang on - was not hers.

Sprite has to move very carefully to get on her feet. It felt similar to her entire body falling asleep. Fuzzy static running through it. She had to stomp her feet, stretch her arms, roll her head about to get the feeling back in herself. It hurt while in progress, but felt amazing when it was done.

Much like one or two other things.

She crossed the room to inspect the rouge shoe. It was far too big to be hers, for a start. The obvious suspicion was for it to be Frank's, but contrary to stereotypes, he detested pink. No red bottoms, no rhinestones, no rich suede. What was a piss-poor dupe doing in this house?

It had been covered by that iconic, ridiculous cape. Sprite bit her tongue to keep from laughing. It _must_ be Columbia who enjoyed seeing him wear that... the thin heel, hanging on my a meagre thread was what caught her attention, peeking out from the silky folds.

She shrugged. Oh well. As Vienna said last night, "they have one of everything hidden away in here.". And someone in this world _must_ have a shoe fetish.

She tossed the broken pump into the open wardrobe, gathering up all the other objects from the dusty floor as well. Hedonism made no excuse for messiness.

With that thought in mind, she set about cleaning up the rest of the room. She stripped the bed (Lord knows _that_ would need a good wash), organised the wardrobe, made a small dent in the dust with the red feather duster that obviously wasn't used for dusting.

Say dust again.

 _Dunk_.

Ah, now that was done, maybe she could-.

 _Dunk._

What was that-?

 _Dunk._

Sprite stood still, very confused. Amazingly, her mind didn't even question that awful dream she had, let alone the almost identical sounds leading up to that ambush. It sounded metallic, sonorous, kind of. But now she stood still, nothing happened.

Could it have been a tree branch knocking at the window? There are no windows in here, dumbass. Could it have been... something falling on the ceiling? Above her was the empty cupboard, Frank had shown her that. An animal stuck in the walls? Okay now she was sounding ridiculous.

Which meant she'd run out of options. It must be something in here. Or if she just ignored it and walked out she'd have nothing to-.

 _Dunk_.

She jumped. The floor, that's where it was coming from. The exact square of floorboard which her foot now rested on. Conveniently, the section next to it squeaked. She tried them out for comparison:

 _Dunk._ Squeak. _Dunk._ Squeak. _Dunk-_ squeak- _dunk-_ squeak- _dunk-_ squeak- _dunk._ Squeak.

 _Dunkdunkdunk._

It seemed to grow looser the more she pressed it. That could have been her imagination, but with the way to get out so similar, she guessed it was supposed to open something. Probably just an alternative way to leave the room, if people had gone in together and didn't want to be seen out on the open together. If people were about to be caught and needed a quick route to scramble away, half-dressed and disheveled.

This floor mechanism was supposed to trigger something - but something else was blocking it.

Concentrating more now, thus pushing her foot slower, she felt something move under there, roll a little way, then stop. More pressure pushed forth the _dunk._

Hmm. She needed a tool. Something long enough to give her enough leverage, when pressed on to the weak floorboard, to push it up from the other end. To make a see-saw out of that floorboard. She could lift it away and probably rip the others away with her hand, should she need more space and the wood being as weak as it was.

She gave a careful three-sixty until she realised: the two candelabras bookending the wardrobe behind her. She stretched up on her tiptoes for the left one, struggling to hold in both hands from the weight. She propped herself against the wardrobe doors for support (for she would most _definitely_ fall) positioned the bottom of the candelabra dead centre of the noisy square, and gripped the decorative top with both hands.

She took a deep breath - and with all her might - she _pushed._

The square sank, went _dunk-clink,_ and the wardrobe turned inwards behind her.

* * *

She didn't even scream when it happened. She stood there, candelabra clutched in shaking hands. Staring at the vast expanse of black tunnel gaping before her. The wardrobe still at her back.

 _This must be another way out,_ she thought to herself. _Just like I thought._

 _Just like I need. Because there isn't a way back in._

So, like a true warrior on depressant drugs, she started forward.

The ground felt strange beneath her feet. She couldn't see her hand in front of her face in this darkness, but it felt like this had once been brick, or Tarmac, and somebody had gone over it with soil, or wood chips. Maybe both.

There were fixtures adhered to this wall - earthy too. Sprite felt numerous while she stumbled along blindly, spaced out evenly, at identical heights. There were the means to have light - to have candelabras - in here, but no one was using them.

She thought about slipping her own in, but thought better of it. She didn't want to open another suspicious passageway or anything.

It had to have been the candelabra. The ornate lighting apparatus had been resisting against or providing pressure for something - God knows how small the odds were that she'd chosen the correct one - so that even if someone stepped on the square by accident (as they must do all the time) nothing would happen.

 _It's nothing, my love. Aged wood. Old pipes._

Well this better come out somewhere because this tunnel was going on forever and it wasn't exactly warm here either-.

She shrieked. A rat ran over her foot.

No turns or corners or anything. Did it even end anywhere? Was she destined to roam these catacombs forever, lost in darkness because she was too headstrong to leave things the fuck alone? She tried to calm herself down - it wouldn't be long now before she got upset. And right now, things were just on the edge of it being a dream. If she cried - heard her own voice, felt her own tears - it would be real, and she wasn't quite ready to deal with that.

She jumped. Did she just see something? Or was that-?

No, there it was again. Flickering, and the slightest whisper of heat. Was that... fire?

She rushed towards it, that yellow orb growing brighter, licking more shadows onto the walls, the closer she got. Turning the first corner she'd come across, almost crying with relief, Sprite found herself in another room.

Room didn't really describe it. The tunnel was still behind her, and more tunnel beckoned in front of her. But this area has been sectioned off with two walls, haphazardly built, though they were. Upon the floor rested a makeshift table (a wax bowl burned fiercely) a wooden chest, a foul sort of rug. A filthy piece of cloth, some sort of chart drawn on with thick black charcoal, dangled from two rusty nails shoved into the wall.

The table lay bare, but something had been on it - the dust had circles and lines imprinted on it. That narrowed it down. They were fresh, however. Someone had used this table recently.

A thrill ran up her spine. Please say they've already gone.

She squinted at the chart next. It was almost impossible to decipher - the smell alone was distracting enough. Her feet slipped and slid around the slimy, viscous substance coating the vile rug on the floor, but if she leaned one hand on the wall she could get close enough to see the markings. It looked to be some sort of grid, or maybe a timetable? The originator had started with ten entries along the vertical side, but blacker, thicker lines had since been added. Within each section, the markings were different in content but laid out in the same fashion:

01 : 07 : 09 /G/M/84

02 : 11 : 09 /C/F/93

03 : 01 : 10 /O-R/G/80

04 : 06 : 10 /U/M/90

05 : 07 : 10 /H/F/50

06 : 10 : 13 /W/F/97

07 : 12 : 17 /H/B/91

08 : 03 : 18 /V/W/03

09 : 05 : 18 /N/M/85

10 : 09 : 18 /J/B/02

11 : 01 : 19 /D/T/G(98)

12 : 03 : 19 /K/M/02

13 : 03 : 19 /M/B/03

14 : 04 : 19 /H-S/W/95

15 : 05 : 19 /R/F/01

Sprite's brain was fuzzing trying to make sense of it all.

But that wasn't the end of it. The vertical line had entries too, creating a (so far) fifteen-by-five grid, with the letters H, S, E, N and O in each section. Each of these entries had been ticked.

For example, U/M/90 had been ticked under S. H/F/50 was paired with E. D/T/G(98) under O.

What in the flying fuck did this all mean?

'Get out of my way.'

She screamed absolute bloody murder, whirled with the candelabra in her hand with not a thought for the living flames lapping around it, and _slammed_ the burning centrepiece into the side of the stranger's head.

That was before the shock loosened the fixture from her fingers. That was before she turned and saw Riff Raff - cold, evil, _fuming_ shock - glaring back at her.

His gaunt face looked awful in that warm candlelight. The emaciated features thrown into dancing shadows, she'd never seen anything so scary.

Before she could process anything, once again, her mouth went running before her.

'What are _you_ doing here?!' She shrieked, 'Frank said you weren't supposed to be back until the end of the day-!'

'I could ask _you_ the same thing.'

The man's eyes were _blazing_. Strong jaw clenched, hands balled into threatening fists. As it happened, this one had been an accident - but she had made a monster mistake here. He tore out his ponytail without breaking eye contact, making her jump. 'How the _fuck_ did you get down here?'

'Another way out!' She babbled, 'I was just looking for another way out! Me and Frank were in the room behind, I heard something in the floorboards so I took the candelabra to lift it and now I'm...!' Petrified tears oozed from her large eyes. 'It was an accident! I didn't mean to come down here I didn't even - _know_ this was here, and - what-?'

'It doesn't matter.' Riff snatched the upturned bowl and righted it on the table, stomping out the flames as he did so. 'I'll take you out. I didn't mean to frighten you.' He softened for a spilt second as if they constituted for an apology. 'This is where I come to do all of my work. It's private, and it's highly dangerous down here, which is why nobody is supposed to find out. No one is allowed down here, but especially not you. Furter would kill me, you'd accidentally off yourself with just about every tool in this room.' Riff seemed to have calmed down a bit now, although the same could not be said for Sprite. 'Hold on to my arm. This way.'

She took it without question. Somewhat rigidly, like a doll. She was shaking far too much for fluid movement at this point. She commanded her legs to take stiff, shaky steps as Riff Raff walked patiently along beside her - not taking his eyes of her for a minute, she noticed.

'I went to the clearing,' she choked out as nothing more than something to say. 'Found the sheet music.'

The stride didn't waver. 'Did you, now? I suppose you had him play it?'

'Yes,' she stammered, 'yes the - the girls were here, and Dax, and they - they think I wrote it but I didn't and I don't know who did-!'

She burst into tears then, unable to keep it together any longer. She didn't particularly want to sit on the dirty floor, but her legs wouldn't hold her up as they should. Riff Raff, out of guilt or responsibility, sank down with her and patiently waited for her to calm down. He didn't touch or coo to her as Frank would have done, but sometimes that was nice. Sometimes she needed the breathing space, rather than the smothering.

'Have I done something bad?'

'Yes.'

'Will I get into trouble?'

'No. You didn't know what you were doing.'

'That thing on the wall, I-.'

Listen to me.' Riff shifted his position to crouch a little easier. The darkness forbade anything more than the wispy tendrils of hair from being distinguishable. 'I know you didn't mean to come down here, that much was obvious. But you mustn't tell anyone that you did. Not how you got in, not what you saw-.'

'It didn't make any sense anyway.'

'Well good. I had rather hoped that would be the case.' To her delighted confusion, he winked. 'I mean it when I say you cannot tell anyone. Not even Fur - Frank. Understand?'

Her voice came out soft. 'Yes.'

'Speaking of which,' Riff heaved himself to his feet and pulled her up after him, 'you'd better get yourself back up there. Furter will be wondering where you've gone and sending himself mad again.'

'Riff?' The wardrobe doors were in sight now. 'Do you think he really likes me?'

He turned, staring. 'Well, yes, I think he does.' He wanted to shake the girl when she began to blush. _What are you thinking?_ He wanted to scream. _Are you blind? Do you want to live out your days in pain and suffering?_ _ **Would**_ _you, if you get to keep him? What in the world has that god-awful man done to you?_

He gently took the candelabra from her white hands, and slipped it into the first hold. The familiar _dunk_ sounded somewhere in the next room.

He brushed clear a section of the floor with his foot. 'Step here,' he tapped the square with the toe of his weather-beaten shoe, 'and the wardrobe should turn you out again.'

She shifted expectantly. 'You aren't coming?'

'Now imagine the look on Furter's face when he sees the two of us coming out of that room together.' To Sprite's intense delight, he was smirking. 'Just imagine.'

* * *

All suspicions confirmed. Sprite really has missed Riff Raff more than Columbia.

Greeting her from the door was wonderful, as was the huge hugs and long-overdue night they all spent together. But nothing could compare to that intense pride she felt over her unorthodox relationship with Riff Raff.

When Frank would throw a tantrum yet again, and they would catch each other's eye and grin. When Sprite had taken a break from the library and come back to find all the equations completed. When Frank would start on Riff Raff, and Sprite would jump in with the classic 'Oh Frankie I have this ailment today wont you please drop everything and make me feel better?'.

Which reminded her, sprawled out over Frank's lap with a book in her hand, pretending not to notice Riff Raff because he wasn't allowed to exist when Frank was there, she needed to talk to him about that bracelet.

Riff Raff stood in the corner, trying to fix a lightbulb that had recently fizzled out. He stood on a precarious stool, and every five seconds Sprite worried he might fall. Sprite hadn't been reading her book at all (or at least just reading the same paragraph over and over again) because she was thinking about how to distract Frank.

How to get Frank to leave her and Riff alone together? How to get blood out of stone?

Frank definitely seemed more absorbed in his book - _he_ didn't care whether the handyman broke any bones - his hair-petting has grown slower, frown deeper, as the fictional plot between the pages thickened.

He hadn't even looked up for the past half an hour.

Sprite batted the book out of Frank's hands.

She didn't _mean_ to hit him in the face with it. She just wanted attention.

The laugh exploded out of her (somewhere between humour and fear was more like it) thus rendered her apology useless.

'Frankie, I'm so sorry!' She gasped while Frank was still sitting there cross-eyed. 'I didn't mean to - are you hurt?'

He narrowed his eyes at her in determination. 'No,' he said, leaning over her, 'but you might be.'

He ripped the book from her hands, hurling it across the room before wrestling her into the sofa. Despite her squeals and kicks and wriggles, Frank successfully pinned her down, and took a moment to savour being completely in control.

 _Thank heavens he found it funny,_ Sprite thought. _Had he been in a less playful mood, this position could be far more sinister._

Knees kept her legs still, one hand encircling both wrists and holding them above her head, the other free to tickle or do anything to her as much as he liked. This really was the best of the worst kind of games to play.

'Well, now what?' Frank smirked down at her struggling form, keeping a casual tone on purpose. 'You obviously don't feel up to much, you're tired already.'

'I am not!'

'You're not?' Frank teased, enjoying himself enormously. 'Get up then...!'

She fought valiantly (giggling rather hysterically the whole time, of course) but a fair while later, she hadn't moved at all.

'Frankie, stop it.'

'Stop what?'

'Let me sit up.'

He pouted. 'Have you forgotten how to sit up?'

Little things like that sent her into fits of laughter all over again, which turned her to jelly, which meant she couldn't fight him off at all. As of right now, she could only lay there and giggle.

And Frank, well, she assumed he was enjoying it. Or he had a spare bookmark in there somewhere.

'Look, there goes Riff,' she said once she got her breath back. 'He'd gone to tell Magenta on you.'

He hissed right in her ear, 'Oh, they'll be too busy making _inbreds_ to worry about us!'

She thought she would wet herself. Her stomach hurt, her legs aches from being taut for too long. Her nose itched and she couldn't scratch it.

Frank laid his chin in her chest, round eyes the epitome of innocence. 'What do you want?'

'To get up!'

'No...' he hovered above her, hands either side of her head. Her wrists were free, but she was still trapped. 'What do you _want?_ From me? Have you thought of anything?'

She blinked, trying not to go cross eyed as their noses were almost touching. 'Do I have to make a decision right now?'

'You've got a lot of time. Where else can you go?'

Once Frank got a competition into his head, hell would freeze over before he left unvictorious.

For the first time, he murmured, 'I'm not hurting you, am I?'

She shook her head. Suddenly she envisioned him standing on her, just to prove the point.

Well. This was a big question. What would she like?

To have a playful, healthy dynamic like this every day? To not have to live up to expectations anymore? To stay in her comfort zone when she felt like it? To forget about that underground corridor she found? To start afresh, and pretend she was brand new here? To forget seeing Frank's mind turn inside out, and hearing him screaming and crying for help? To forget about Juniper?

'Food,' she said. 'I want to go somewhere, with you, outside, in the real world. I want to go somewhere fancy where they serve nice food.'

A beaming smile spread across Frank's face - incredulous - he could hardly believe it!

'Little mouse,' he began still smiling, 'you could have _anything_... and you chose to take me on a date?'

She shifted around enough to get her arms up to drape around Frank's neck. 'I _want_ people to know that we're here. Together. I want to do normal things with you. I _like_ spending time with you, Frank, and I know it's complicated, but... do you think it's stupid?'

Frank shook his head gently, grinning at her with heart eyes. 'I think it's adorable.' He finally let her go, shifting down to lay on her chest, curling up against her. 'Classic Lessie,' he teased, getting comfortable with his eyes closed. 'I'd gift her all the stars in the sky and she wants rib-eye steak.'

To her, and to Juniper.

All the stars in the sky.

* * *

She really didn't need Frank to fall asleep. Riff had gone off somewhere, yet Frank was in such a lovely mood. She didn't want to spoil that by disturbing him.

It was bliss, really. He was full of kindness, inside. More of a faux fatale than a femme fatal - using dramatics, leather and a pint and a half of cosmetics to hide the child-like vulnerability and fear.

He would die, if left to his own devices. The only way out for them was for something bad to happen to him. And none of them wanted that.

He snored softly in a peaceful rhythm, ridiculously long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Lying there like that, no one would ever think he was capable of such monstrosities. Especially when he stirred or grunted, holding her tighter or reaching out in his sleep.

The minute she let go of his hand, he'd frown and stir and gripe until he had it back. He'd exhale, satisfied, and settle back into sleeping again.

Unable to dose off herself, she laid there for an hour, watching him.

Another noise stole her attention. That was Columbia's tap shoes clicking down the hall.

She skipped in, beaming, but immediately crumpled into a pout when she saw them together. She silently gushed, clutching her chest and making heart shapes with her hands.

'So cute!' She mouthed.

'I'm so glad you're back, Columbia,' Sprite whispered earnestly. 'I missed you so much. Here, come and-.' She threw down a few cushions for Columbia to kneel on at her level. 'So what was it like?'

She reached out and squeezed Sprite's other hand. 'Tink, it was wonderful...' the girl positively glowed, from the inside out. 'I was on my own a lot of the time, which I didn't mind. I went everywhere the wind would take me. I met so many awesome people - it's a shame I can't keep in contact with any of them.' She shrugged, frowning. 'I went to the beach, I did a ghost tout at this spooky old picture-house, I went to every nightclub I could manage. I even met a cute guy who took me out dancing - but don't tell Frank,' she grinned. She grew fixated on him, as if he'd suddenly leap up and admonish her.

Snore. Snuffle. Burp.

'But yes, it was amazing.' She beamed again, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. She shuffled a little closer, biting her lip.

'You okay?' Sprite smiled. 'Do you need to tell me something? It's okay, she assured her, 'I won't repeat it.'

Columbia sighed, gearing herself up for something. 'Well,' she began speaking even quieter, 'I'm not sure how to start. I already told you about American Smooth boy who took me out - Oscar, he was called, we went to the cutest dance hall speakeasy downtown - and, y'know everybody's dancing, drinking, having a good time. They had a live band there, you would have liked them, Bambi, they were really good. And Oscar went to the bathroom, the unisex bathroom they had-.'

'Columbia.' Sprite interrupted her kindly. 'Get to the point.'

She sighed again. 'And while I was alone,' she said with her eyes closed, 'this man comes up to me. Young, average height, nice suit. And he told me he was a talent scout for this new tv show coming out soon and he said - he said they were looking for dancers.' She looked up, cheeks bright pink. 'He said I had potential, and was exactly the right type they were looking out for as well. Androgyny is the new black, I guess.' She laughed nervously.

Sprite, well, all she could do was sit and stare. She was not - Columbia was not about to say what she thought she was?

'He wanted time to come and audition.'

There goes the mouth again.

'I still have his card,' Columbia pulled a small red rectangle out of her sleeve. 'It's not for a few weeks yet but he wants me to give him a call and I...'

Sprite remembered how to talk. 'Are you going to?'

'Well, I - I don't know...'

'You have to! Columbia, you - do you even understand the magnitude you're dealing with?' Sprite leaned as far forward as she could without disturbing Frank. ' _This is your way out._ '

The tears came then. She covered her face, embarrassed. 'Yes, but,' she threw her arms up in a hopeless gesture, 'but what am I going to do about-?'

They looked uneasily at the drowsy alien before them. Of course it was not that easy.

'You have to go. You'll never get an opportunity like this again.'

'I'm not sure if I even _want_ to leave!' Sprite physically flinched. There it was again. Caged birds don't always fly away - some even knew how to sing. 'I've been here for so long,' Columbia continued with her head down, 'I don't know what the real word is like anymore. What if I've forgotten how to take care of myself? What if it's not what I expected, what if I hate every minute of it? I won't be allowed back once I leave. What do I do then?'

'You will be allowed back because I will still be here. Frank can't refuse me anything. You know that.' She grinned. 'How much time do you have left to decide?'

'He said by the end of the month.'

'Perfect, that's just over three weeks.' She patted her friend on the head. 'Don't stress out, Columbia. I'll help you do it.'

Frank stretched in his sleep.

They both watched, silent, hearing a few bones crack, watching him move as if his bones were made of oil, waiting to see if he'd wake up or not.

The eyes fluttered open.

He gave Sprite a sleepy smile. Warm and soft, tender when he kissed her hand and nuzzled gently into her collarbone.

'Don't go,' he whispered. 'Leave the others. Stay with me tonight.'

'I will,' she said, 'but we've got an audience.'

He almost jumped. Turned - and flooded with relief upon seeing Columbia.

'Hello, firefly,' he beamed, reaching out to pinch her cheek. 'How long have you been down there?'

'Not long,' Sprite said - for Columbia couldn't speak. 'Telling me all about her adventures. Not that I'm jealous or anything...'

'I know, it's not fair, is it?' Frank tousled Sprite's hair. 'Maybe next time you can go together. Hmm? What do you think, darling?'

Columbia nodded with a slight smile.

'What's the matter with you?' Frank smiled rather knowingly. 'Cat got your tongue?'

'She got her tongue pierced.'

'I did not!'

'Ah, there it is!' Frank leaned down to kiss her mouth. 'Couldn't stay quiet for long!'

A muffled sort of groan omitted from somewhere in the room.

Sprite blinked. 'Was that your stomach?'

'No.' Frank stood, stretched, and pranced out of the room. 'I hope it's not fucking broccoli bake again...'

* * *

Riff's composure was infuriating. With Frank, it was his _job_ to antagonise Riff Raff. He kept him around for sole purpose of goading him to fly off the handle - straight into a stiletto boot or leather whip with barbed ends.

As was Riff's job to remain calm. He was tasked with protecting the master from himself, with carrying out the mission safely as effectively, and bring them all back in one piece. Biting to every little bit of bait was not that way too do that.

So, standing across from his perpetrator in the lab, listening to him boast about all the different ways he had taken his girl with silver locks ("oh, how she _screamed_...") he looked on with a picture of complete indifference.

The opposite of love was not hate.

'She adores me, you realise.' Frank picked absentmindedly at a gleaming red fingernail. 'Follows me _everywhere_. She would do... well, just about anything! Which she proved,' Frank continued with a toss of the hair, 'when my beloved girls came by. You remember them, don't you? And little Dax? Spending so long hiding in the shadows, perving on them from the corners, you'd remember how lively they were. She surprised me, my little mouse, with how durable her bravery was. Almost as...' he trailed off casually, taking lazy steps towards him. Riff knew better then to back away. Just breathe in and wait for it to be over. Nothing serious, it will just be a brief fit. '... _durable_ as her bones are.'

Riff's stomach dropped. With all the palaver of recent days, he'd forgotten about that.

'Now, I don't know if you know this about my darling, Riffy,' He stepped away from him as he strolled around the room. Taking long strides, swinging his arms. _Look at me. Look at my power._ 'But she is one _tiny_ girl, yet she fights like a wildcat. She loves being roughhoused. And you'd think, considering she'd beg for me up to four times a day and with the medication you administered _weeks_ ago... surely she must have broken something by now, hmm?'

Riff's mouth felt like sandpaper. 'I'm afraid I don't understand your point, master.'

'The point I'm making, you _snivelling_ _coward_ ,' Frank stepped right up to him, sneering in his face. 'Is you disobeyed me. I gave you strict instructions to give her that osteomalacia, you reported back that you had, and you _lied_ to me!'

'Or it simply hasn't worked.'

The slap came sharp, and fast. It left a thick sound in the air - Riff's face wouldn't bleed, but it would bruise.

'How dare you blame this on me, how _dare_ you?'

'I gave her the substance. Blue bottle. Sprayed it into her tea and watched her while she drank it. Unless it passed through her system before it took effect or evaporated before it even got there, that particular concoction does not work.'

Frank's jaw clenched. 'Fine,' He spat. He stormed across the room, threw open a cabinet and slammed a bottle down in front of him. 'You take it then.' The man seethed. 'Same stuff. Spare dosage. If my work is so piss-poor, so ineffective, so unreliable, stand there and drink the whole lot and I'll watch.'

Well that wasn't supposed to happen.

Desperately trying to stay neutral, he reached for the awful blue thing. Unscrewing the top was hard with shaking hands. The man's eyes boring into him, how was he ever going to do this? If it didn't work, great, if it did, it would kill him.

This situation had come to him in dreams many times before. He never envisioned his one way ticket out looking like this.

'Wait.'

 _Just like Furter said,_ Riff thought as he re-screwed the bottle numbly. _Snivelling coward._

 _'_ I've changed my mind.'

He produced some papers from the pocket of his lab coat and laid them out on the table without breaking eye contact.

'Let's see if you can do one aspect of your job properly...'

Riff peered over the table. Oh, not this. Anything but this. Thinking about it made him feel _ill_ , that was the worst seven days of his life (and that was _saying_ something) he never wanted to revisit it again.

Except he had to. Whenever and where ever the master saw fit.

'Show me. Set it up and tell me how it works.'

Riff reluctantly trudged over to the monitor, where he pulled out the mechanical arm to his level and began tapping away on the touch-sensitive screen.

'Not so fast, I said-!'

'I'm just reverting it back to the main default screen.'

A few button-presses and knob-twists later, and three codes appeared on the screen.

'This,' said Riff, twisting the knob once to highlight the code in red. 'Is our live feed. If you press this dial, the monitor will start recording everything in the laboratory, which it always has done.' He selected the second one. 'This, he continued, 'is the OS - Outside Source - feed. You'd need another device, like a mobile phone for example, to connect to the feed, after which you could see everything you see from your master view, but from another device. As long as you're within range, you - or anyone - can have twenty-four-seven access.'

'How far is the range?'

'About fifty miles. But there's no need to worry about that, because only someone who knows how to connect their own device to this feed can have access to it. Which no one else does. And this would have to set to the OS feed, which it never will be.

'And this,' Riff finished, selecting and pressing this time. 'Is the custom feed. The first, and hopefully only one we'll have to install. From any monitor, in any part of the house, at any time, just select the third code and live, twenty-four-seven footage from this location will pop up on your screen.'

The monitor showed the living room of Lessie's old house.

'To change it back,' Riff pinched the screen with his thumb and forefinger. The picture shrunk into the left hand corner, where he swiped it away. This left a black screen, until he pressed the dial that brought up the three codes again.

'The only caution is, it will be obvious that you're watching the house because the screen from your view will be black. I'd keep her out of your room whilst you're observing, if I were you.'

Frank tapped his foot thoughtfully. That really was a stroke of genius. Thank heavens he had the idea.

'Where are the cameras hidden?'

'Expertly. I developed the camouflage myself. My sister wired the sound, and Columbia did us both a favour by staying out of the way.'

Frank smirked. 'None the wiser?'

'As requested.'

He shook his head, smirk broadening. Stupid girl. Imagine what she could have done for her dear friend if she pulled her head out of the clouds.

Lightheartedness, though, was short-lived. Frank sighed, scrutinising the picture further.

'Did you see anything, while you were there?'

'Yes.'

'What was it like?'

Riff looked up, and for a moment, they shared complete solidarity. 'Awful.'

Frank had a feeling he would say that.

'Piss off somewhere else, then.' Frank shooed Riff out of the way, anxious to start watching as much as he could. 'See to my flower, if you'd like. She snapped her quintessence hoop the other day, poor thing was devastated.'

Incredibly, Riff breathed a sigh of relief. Something that was _easy_ to fix.

* * *

 **This** **one seems really short I don't know why. Seventeen days till Rocky everyone whip.**

 **Alma Oakley.**


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Tonight, unconventional conventionalists, lend me your ears as I have an important announcement to make:**

 **For the first time in what feels like FOREVER, I am finally writing ahead of what I am posting! Woohoo! Screw you, Chapter Thirteen, suck on THAT.**

 **Thank you once again to my reviewers (one of these days I will dedicate personal messages - when it isn't in the small hours of the morning), and once again, please don't be shy for shy quiet readers out there. It makes me so happy to read reviews! I could literally explode.**

 **All hail Toothless the Dragon.**

* * *

Watching Columbia in a constant battle with herself weighed far too heavy on Sprite. Not even Magenta knew about Columbia's opportunity, so responsibility fell to Sprite and Sprite alone.

Except, she couldn't always be there to save her.

Columbia was headstrong. Outspoken. Not much of a filter between her head and her mouth. The eventual disclosure of all that she held secret was inevitable - nothing but a matter of time. And, due to holding it in longer and longer each day, some of these little slips had happened already.

The first one occurred on the same day.

After Frank had woken himself up, he sprang right back in to that lovely mood, and continued being excited and playful towards both his firefly and his little mouse. Although (Sprite tried not to feel jealous) Columbia did get more of the attention.

 _He hasn't seen her for seven days. The novelty will wear off in a bit._

And sometimes, Frank could trick you into thinking that today, on account of his sunny disposition, you could get away with anything.

Sprite saw it in her face before it happened. She just _knew -_ endangered species communicate with each other non-verbally every day - that Columbia was going to chance it. She was going to through caution to the wind, vanquish all her wariness and tell Frank everything on the spot. She might even ask his permission to leave. Because Columbia was optimistic, Columbia was naive, and after all this time, Columbia was in love.

 _Frankie would never hurt you._

'Columbia!' Sprite yelled before she could say anything. She glared rather aggressively at her, who hunched her shoulders a little, frowning. Sprite didn't want to upset her, but hearing of Mr. Dancer's unexpected, brutal murder a few days from now would be far worse. 'I forgot to tell you that Magenta's making cupcakes. She knows you love to decorate them. Would you go in and see if she needs any help?'

Frank had not caught any of the silent interaction between the two. He had snagged his nail in his fishnets, and spent an awfully slow, meticulous few minutes unpicking the thread without ripping a hole. Thus, he frowned in surprise upon seeing Columbia with her back to him.

'Firefly!' He called. 'Where are you going?'

She stopped in the doorway - twitched - sighed.

'I need the bathroom.'

They both watched her skip (yes, skip) towards the stairs. She misjudged the position of one of the steps and landed clumsily, one foot twisted awkwardly beneath her. Frank dashed forwards, but she got up unhurt, and came back in one piece a few minutes later.

The second time, Columbia was not so lucky. On account of Sprite making herself unavailable (she had acquired a rather persistent headache, and had taken to her own bed to lie down), Columbia and Magenta were in their room together. Despite only lasting seven days, it felt much longer since the dynamic duo had had this down-time to themselves. They'd missed it.

Columbia's limited edition galaxy print of A Night At The Opera spun rhythmically atop her turntable. Mercury screamed about a sewer rat, decaying in a cesspool of pride.

Magenta sat in deep concentration, styling her hair just the way she liked it. Adding volume until it was at least twice the size of her head.

Occasionally batting questions and comments back and forth, both absorbed in doing their own thing and completely at ease with themselves.

'Tink did really well to manage all that time on her own.'

'Yes. I was proud of her, I must say. Frank was too, although I don't enjoy thinking about that.'

'Mm.'

Spritz. Tick. Pop.

'Why did you put that vulgar accessory on that poor dog of yours?'

'It's _cute!_ It's only a bandana, and Earnie looks so handsome when he's wearing it!'

'All it takes is for my Kaiser to mistake it for a toy and that dog is toast.'

'Maybe you should train him then. _My_ pet is well behaved...'

Cough. Shift. Yawn.

'Are you happy to be back?' Magenta looked past her reflection to survey Columbia on this one.

'Sure I am. I love it here, getting to see Tink and Frankie again. I've also got my audition to look forward to so at least it won't be _exactly_ the same.'

Magenta put her styling products down. 'What did you say?'

Columbia jumped. Her face, turned away from Magenta, thank heavens, contorted in fearful shock as she mouthed, ' _oh fuck!_ '

'I said my...' her shoulders slumped, defeated. 'My audition.' She sighed, hating herself more than ever. She'd only gone and done it now. 'Tink asked me to coach her - you know, she wants to practice being more dominant - but she asked me not to tell anyone because she thinks it's embarrassing.'

Magenta blinked. 'And you need to 'audition' to be her submissive for the night?'

'Well, yeah. I'm not very experienced in that stuff either. If I end up not being very good, she was going to ask you.'

The styling products were put away somewhat abrasively. Magenta chose a battered copy of the Karma Sutra to flip through instead, bare ankles crossed behind her head, sullen-faced.

Would she _ever_ be first choice?

The third and final time (before Sprite threatened to tell Frank for her and have it blow up in her face) was in front of Riff Raff.

Now, straight away that seemed strange. Riff Raff, who openly despised Columbia and all her insufferable cheeriness, had not only stepped into the room with her on purpose, but chose to stay there as well? One might think Sprite's presence made up for it, but Sprite herself was not that stupid.

Columbia and Sprite were engaged in a heated debate when he walked in. Columbia near tears, Sprite at the end of her tether, right at the climax, when Riff interrupted. He shuffled in, sat at the farthest seat away from them, and began writing in a notepad resting on his knees.

'Look,' Sprite said in a hushed tone, 'all I'm saying is you have to make a decision. You _need_ to stop blurting it out, because what if the opportunity is stunted before it's even begun?'

'You're right.' She chewed her lip nervously. 'I haven't even returned his call yet. I don't want him to give up on me and change his mind - unless he already has. What if he's found someone better already, and doesn't want me anymore?'

'You'll never find out if you don't take the first step. In fact, let's do it right now.' Sprite pressed her phone into Columbia's hand. 'It's a nice day, where do you want to go? Beach? Cafe? Shopping? It doesn't matter, but let's just take the phone with us, and make the call while we're there. Nobody will know, and you'll have time to process the decision, good or bad.'

'Okay.' Columbia couldn't stand still for nerves. 'Okay, that sounds like a good idea, the only thing we have to think about is an excuse to go-.'

'I can handle that.'

They both jumped a mile. The voice came from nowhere - unrecognisable, though, it was not. Nasally, sophisticated, a touch too smoky to be plummy (a fact which frustrated Sprite enormously) this disembodied statement preluded Riff Raff unfolding himself from the ground up, unabashed in his intruding.

Neither of them had seen him come in.

Columbia spoke first. Mouth agape, brow furrowed, she looked fit to explode. 'You were _spying_ on us!'

But a dwindling glare scared Columbia into silence. 'Conveniently distracted is more like it,' he commented dryly, before - locking eye contact with Sprite - he continued. 'Venture offsite, if you'd like to. The master's in a foul mood today. In the unlikely event in which he notices your absence, I'll keep him occupied.'

Sprite's stomach turned. Riff scratched the floor. Riff chipped a statue's red fingernail. Riff forgot this, neglected that. The pettier the better, it seemed. Frank would act immediately, even if it was unnecessary. Any excuse to practice forceful sadism.

Sprite created the line between dominance and perpetration.

'And Columbia.' She flinched harder than Sprite used to. 'Good luck with the audition.'

Columbia stared back with a face of utter bewilderment. Sort of touched, mostly guilty, a tiny bit bemused.

Before leaving, Riff gave them a tiny nod of camaraderie. Sprite even though she saw him smile.

* * *

Sprite breathed a sigh of relief as she followed the preceding passenger from the bus platform to the smooth pavement. Both, to savour every muscle unwinding in her body, and to be rid of that stench of heinous body odour.

She took a deep lungful of sweet and crisp air. 'Oh, thank God,' she sighed, stretching the last of the knots out of her neck. 'Fucking finally.'

Squinting against the sun, she waited for Columbia to disembark the four-wheeled death trap. One may think Sprite was being dramatic (as Sprite was wont to do) but this burning hatred for public transport spanned years into the past.

She hated it then and she hated it now. It started back in school. Bracing herself for the prospect of boarding a bus packed with children who knew her by her person - not once of the ignorant pricks knew a real thing about her. Enduring the jeers and taunts the whole way there ('No shit, they dug her up?' 'Only marijuana for breakfast this morning?' Or, on the rare occasion where she dared utter a word, 'Hey - did anybody hear something?').

So silly yet so effective.

And so instigated the next four week long absence filled with dread for the next one.

This fear never went away. No matter the destination, five minutes or thirty minutes, her heart strangled her voice, she sat in rigid fixation, not even looking up until the vehicle rolled to a stop. Then came the daunting expedition of standing up and walking to the front of the bus with everyone watching her. Probably stumble over her thanks or not say anything at all, thus cursing her to play it over and over again in her mind. Worrying and thinking, and feeling sick because too many things gnawed at her at once.

Thirteen came as a blessing - she saved enough for a chauffeur. And once Ralph arrived, she praised the lord for never having to step foot on one of those things ever again.

Until now.

Neither had the nerve to steal the truck, the sum would be too much to spend on a taxi without arousing suspicion, and both has an intense aversion to walking. So, to the painful sinking of Sprite's stomach, bright red double-decker bus it was.

Had the thing _eaten_ Columbia?

Her blindingly glittering pink heel was the last to leave the dirty flooring. Her other ankle went over as she misjudged the distance from the platform to the street, and Sprite dashed forwards to catch her.

Sprite squealed as she grappled onto her madly, both ankles wavering in those ridiculous shoes. 'Take more water with it next time!' She helped Columbia right herself. 'You okay? Haven't hurt your foot?'

Columbia spotted the towering glass doors, and sprinted off towards the mall entrance. Obviously not!

She span around with open arms, exclaiming, 'Yay, we made it!' She threw her arms around Sprite, so happy she might explode. 'I love getting to do stuff like this! It's been so long! I can't wait to spend a whole day just being...!'

She trailed off, but thy both knew what she meant. So tired of looking over one's shoulder. So tired of neglecting one's self-care. So tired of distracting, and suppressing, one's identity.

They squeezed hands. They grinned at each other. Today, they would be nothing but themselves.

With more than a thousand people wandering around this shopping centre, they just blended in. They didn't have to live to expectations, they didn't have to constantly be on guard in case someone saw them, they didn't have to pretend to be comfortable in the situation. They could do whatever they pleased - they could get ice cream, they could model outfits, they could consume their body weight in tea and cake, they could sprawl out in the sun, they could watch people tombstone into the sparkling blue water but never have the guts (not the stupidity) to try it themselves.

So they did. And they had a _great_ time.

'So,' Sprite said around a mouthful of chocolate-drenched soft pretzel, addressing the elephant in the room that had been following them all day. 'Do you want to make that call now?'

Columbia opted to have her salted pretzel cut into pieces. She nibbled on one now, chewing over the proposition. 'No, she sighed, 'but I need to. Otherwise I never will.' Sprite pulled out her phone, eliminating the last excuse. 'I need something to force me into doing it, because I'm not brave enough to do it myself.' Columbia had tied her hair in two red buns on top of her head. She fiddled with one anxiously, encouraging the bobby pins to loosen and stick out. 'You dial the number, and pass me the phone, then I'll have no choice but to speak when he answers.'

'Okay. Good idea.' Sprite shifted into a kneeling position atop their makeshift picnic blankets - the jackets they wore on their backs. She took the card from Columbia's shaking hand and began typing the numbers.

The name 'Frank' beside a smiling purple devil emoji popped up seconds before it began to ring, and in the concentration of tapping the screen, Sprite accidentally pressed 'answer' before she even noticed the call.

She almost squealed, grappling with the phone to get it against her ear. 'Hey, Frankie!' She said far too nervously. She sent a tense glance to Columbia, who looked like a doll with her silly hair and wide eyes. 'Everything okay?'

'We're fine here, my darling. Now, is there a game of hide and seek that nobody told me about?'

She forced herself to laugh. 'What? I'm not hiding!' Columbia was apt to burst with desperation to hear the conversation, but Sprite waved her away. She glared at her, mouthing, _wait!_ 'I'm shopping.'

'With who?'

'Columbia!'

'Right.' Sprite winced at the honeyed fury harboured in but one word, 'and I suppose you think it's okay to wander off without telling me?'

'Riff Raff sent us for bathroom products,' Sprite blurted, mentally saying a prayer for him. 'We're running low, apparently. Didn't he tell you?'

This, blessedly, she knew to be true.

Even through the phone, she could feel the rage cooling. But not for long, as it would be re-heated and re-distributed towards a weaker, much more entertaining recipient. 'No, Frank said. 'No, I'm afraid he didn't.' He sighed. 'Alright, flower, well, I don't want to interfere with your frivolity, but leave a note or something next time, yes? You had me worried sick.'

 _Worried sick my ass. Dusting off the knuckles and browsing the Roladex of retribution is more like it._

She mm-hmm'd, said hi for Columbia, exchanged a genuine I love you, and ended the call.

'What the fuck!' Sprite clutched either side of her head. 'Oh my god!'

'That was not supposed to happen,' Sprite continued, 'I'm so sorry Columbia.'

'That's okay. Let's do it, I'm in the mood now.' Sprite waited a moment before pressing dial. 'Actually, Tink, can you step away? Like go to the bathroom or something? I don't think I can do it if someone's watching me.'

Sprite killed the time by loading a basket full of expensive floral bath products.

* * *

Sprite wandered around by herself for long stretch afterwards. They had strict instructions to meet back at the second-hand vinyl store when it started getting dark, since neither of them had any alone time anymore, and both couldn't wait to drift off to the sound of their footsteps and not have to worry about anything.

Columbia was more apt to go deeper into the noise and bright lights. Sprite, however, turned away from them.

She walked further into the local streets, until the loud, obnoxious, glass-walled consumer magnet was but a dot on the horizon.

These multi-coloured streets were quiet. Familiar. Nostalgic, though not entirely good or bad, but somewhere in the middle. This was her home, after all.

There stood the park she spent most of her childhood in. There was the red frame she used to climb (much more forlorn in it's faded, creaking age), and once fell from, breaking her arm at five years old. A passing dog-walker had unsuccessfully called on her mother, then took her to the hospital herself, where a really nice man wrapped her arm in a warm, sticky bandage and added another layer of pink wrap, which nobody signed. If her mother ever noticed this, she never mentioned anything.

Parallel to the rusting fence stood a brown park bench, default in position, and colour, and use. The exact bench she would get drunk on from the age of ten. It became a nightly occurrence by twelve, and to the attention of the police by fifteen. She ran. She always ran. Her cowardice could be overlooked by the well-known fact that if she chose to run, even whilst intoxicated, no one would be able to catch her.

Perhaps that's why Frank didn't like taking her outside.

That patch of grass - that exact patch, where the dew glistened just so but the wind didn't seem to touch - marked the spot where a friend had 'accidentally' overdosed while Sprite watched on, horrified. He collapsed, face down, right there, and Sprite - whether in shock or fear or disbelief - turned around and went home. She never said anything to anybody, and an unfortunate mother and young girl discovered his contorted, wasted body, partially frozen the next morning.

Fucking hell. She hadn't even got to her street yet.

The house with the solar panels belonged to a crazy cat lady who once lobbed her crutch at Sprite for feeding a bedraggled-looking ginger kitten a tiny piece of ham. The house a few streets over, the stained glass window just visible in the warm sun, belonged to Arlo. It sent a weird thrill up her spine. Imagine seeing him now, what on earth would she say? That assuming they would even recognise each other!

 _I hope he's doing well_. Sprite stood looking at the house a few moments longer. _Please say he's doing well._

The awful grey, institutionalised building looming over the cul-de-sac acted as a school - her school. A weekday today, perhaps Arlo was in there, along with Remi and Zadie, sitting at their desks, flicking pens at each other, braiding one another's hair. Scheming for ways to sneak in opioids, reminiscing about the last party, excitedly planning the next one. Maybe they dared to remember Sprite in that moment. Maybe they dared spare a passing thought in her memory. Wondered where she was, where she had run off to, or even if she was still alive.

Wishful thinking. The truth rang clear in this silence. In this normality. In this undisturbed sense of peace.

No one had even noticed she'd gone.

She had hoped it would turn out this way, for her sake - she harboured the guilt for everyone - but seeing it for herself, so unabashedly, so blatant, it filled her with indigence and rage. Just once, it would've been nice to have someone care about her. Was that too much to ask?

She turned around to walk back. It was crushing her, being here.

She made it to the music store, a trying-not-to-cry headache throbbing from the inside out, and tried to calm down whilst waiting for Columbia.

The girl came from behind, and scared the living daylights out of her.

'Columbia!,' she said, shaking a little. 'Don't do that!'

Sprite's face fell. Columbia was glowing.

'I did it,' she said quietly.

'You... you did it?'

She nodded. 'They're expecting me next week.'

Sprite tried to be happy, but she just couldn't. Not really. One step closer to Columbia's freedom. One step closer to loosing yet another genuine friend. She'd better pray nothing happened to Magenta - she would die without them.

Regardless, Sprite painted on a smile and pushed forth a scream, throwing her arms around Columbia and sharing in her triumph.

'Don't get too excited though.' One hair bun unraveled completely loose. 'I might not even get in.'

'Who cares? You did it, you're going! You have a chance!' She grabbed Columbia's shoulders and shook her. 'Do you even understand how amazing this is?'

'I know. I can't believe it.'

Putting a damper on their hard earned high, Sprite's phone began to ring.

They both knew who that was.

Sprite silenced the call as they walked back towards the station, ignoring each one as they boarded again, climbed to the second floor and collapsed into their seats.

It wasn't as scary on the way back.

Columbia sighed wistfully, resting her head on Sprite's shoulder. 'What am I going to do, Tink? If I do get this? I want it more than anything, but I can't leave you and Jen behind!'

Sprite reached up and petted her cropped hair. 'Columbia,' she said sternly, 'when was that last time you did something for yourself? Something that you weren't _conditioned_ to want?'

She didn't say anything.

'Exactly.' Sprite kissed her on the forehead. 'You need to do this, Columbia. I'm rooting for you, and Magenta will be too. You're not stupid, you must know that this project of theirs doesn't have long left. In the nicest way, Columbia, Frank won't need you for much longer. Get out now, before you get left behind.'

'I would have stayed for you. To make sure you were alright first.' She sniffled pitifully. 'Maybe we could have moved in together. Started again, you know? Achieved things which surprised the both of us.'

'Well, this is probably a sign. The world couldn't handle the two of us together.'

They giggled.

'You weren't there when Frank made his guy, were you?'

Sprite started. 'And you were?'

She nodded. 'I was there when Riff killed him. In fact, I had only just arrived there. Six weeks, if that.'

I'll never forget that celebration we had. Tink, it was magical. Frank was just - happy. So happy. He knew he was going home and he couldn't wait and everyone was congratulating him. I even saw him cry a few times. And when we went up to the lab, oh my God. I thought they'd burst into flames. I'll never forget it - standing there, to his left, feeling like I was about to pee my pants. He made a big speech and Magenta and I uncovered the tank—.'

Sprite flinched.

'— and they were all cheering and whooping, Frank couldn't get the funky syrups in fast enough. I couldn't believe it myself when he began to shake, he stood up and Riff leaned over to pull the bandages off and then...'

Columbia shook her head, words failing her at that moment. There are some things you just have to see.

'And that was it. Fate was sealed. Frankie, Jen and Riff they'd done it, they were going home. No one said a word about me, but I had come to expect that.'

She frowned. 'And then, as Frankie explained to you, it all went wrong.'

Sprite squeezed her hand. 'You don't know why he did it?'

She shook her head sadly. 'Jealousy, is all I can think of. Even though why would it matter, because if they all get to go home anyway, who cares who's responsible?' She shifted in her seat. 'He was a funny little guy though.'

'Did he have a name?'

'Rocky. _I_ wanted him to be a girl. Then he would've been Adrienne...'

Sprite guffawed.

'I was in charge of oiling him up for public appearances, which I didn't mind one bit. Not two brain cells in that thick head but fucking _hell_ he was hot. Which I suppose was the point.'

'Did... did you ever-?'

'No. Weren't allowed to. Rocky was Frank's and Frank's alone. He only got to have him a couple times before Riff snatched him away again.'

The unmarked stop crawled along beside them. Sprite stood up, holding onto the back of the chairs to walk towards the stairs.

The bus jerked as it came to a stop. Columbia, aside from almost falling over, dropped a small white paper bag from her pocket. She scrambled for it and stuffed it back inside. Sprite gave her a look, but didn't question it. Not until the forbidding castle loomed overhead did Sprite mention it again.

'Steal some sweets while I was gone?'

Columbia chuckled. 'What?'

'You're hiding something in your pocket.'

She flushed as red as her hair. 'No I'm not.'

'Yes you are. Let me see.'

She stepped away. 'No.'

'Columbia, no one can see us, just show me!' She reached for her but she shrunk away again.

'No!'

They ended up wrestling. Columbia gave Sprite a dead arm, Sprite kicked Columbia in the shin. Hair pulling, infernal screaming. They weren't out to hurt each other, but fighting in the way sisters do. Eventually, one arm held painfully above Columbia's head, Sprite reached into her pocket and snatched the bag inside. She ran, screaming, to keep Columbia at bay until she could get a look inside.

She wrenched the two sides apart - and found white powder staring up at her.

Lightheartedness gone as though she'd been stabbed, she relaxed her arms and stared at her. 'Columbia.'

Still trying to snatch it back, she protested, 'It's not even mine!'

'You're _dealing?_ '

'No!' She held the sides of her head, sighing. 'I have to support myself somehow. I don't have a penny to my name and believe it or not Frankie's sleazy advances are not sufficient payment. Living here has never been permanent, I'm not stupid. I need something to start with when I get out.'

Sprite blinked, furious. 'So, to reiterate: you're dealing.'

'I'm not going to sell it.'

'Then what-?!'

'It's Riff's.' Sprite stopped, dumbfounded. 'I don't know what it's for and I'd like to keep it that way. He makes a list of stuff and I get it for him.'

'Where did you get this? You got this today?'

She nodded. 'I know people, I was in the groupie scene for almost five years. Stumbled down the stereotypical dark alleyway right after I finished the call.' As if trying to justify her actions, she said, 'There's some sort of account in Riff's name back home, and a share of that goes to me - as soon as he gains access to it again.'

Sprite folded her arms. 'And you believe that?'

'I have to. No other choice.'

Sprite studied the substance thoughtfully. 'Does Frank know?'

'Of course not. And he's not going to find out.'

After giving it a lot of thought, Sprite tossed the bag back. Columbia shoved it into her pocket and stormed away somewhat abrasively. Sprite sighed and followed along with one thought in her head.

 _What are we idiots doing to each other?_

* * *

Frank wasn't too shirty with them when they sidled back in.

He sat waiting for them, of course, perched elegantly atop the dining room table whilst Magenta manned several bubbling pots for tonight's meal. His shoes rested on the chair. They sparkled in the dim light.

Brazenly, he didn't take any notice of Columbia. He drawled, 'Hello, stranger,' before hopping from the table and moving to greet Sprite, leaving the other girl to slip away into her room.

Neither did he (or anyone) comment when she didn't show up for dinner. Sprite picked at her plate (which she did every night) staring at the slab of red meat and wondering if the cow had suffered immeasurably to provide it. Her stupid, patronising glass of iced water stood in place of everyone else's large reds, which they couldn't part from for more than three nights, and now more than ever she considered listening to her addiction and diving across the table for one.

Frank liked to act as though she didn't have a problem anymore. It made things easier for him.

She was ready to bolt to her room and stay there as soon as Magenta started clearing up, but a gentle touch on her arm stopped her. Turning to look past Riff Raff who'd caught her attention, Frank gave her a very deliberate look. She clearly had to stay.

She sulked on the nearest plush chair, scrutinising the bare part of Riff's slightly greenish arm. She wondered if the bruised entry points had healed over by now.

Her heart sank again when the other's disappeared off to do their own things. To be left alone with Frank.

She begged for courage. She _prayed_ for courage. _Whatever you do, don't let this slip out...!_

Frank knelt beside her chair with a small smile. 'What's up, little mouse? You've been awfully quiet since your return.'

She shook her head. 'Nothing.'

Even the air knew that she was lying. 'You can tell me, darling.' He stroked the silver curtain of hair behind her ear, reminding her gently: 'I'm not angry with you, if that's what you're worried about.'

She frowned, shifting uncomfortably. 'It's stupid.'

'It won't be.'

'I don't even want to talk about it.'

'It's not good to bottle things up.' He regarded her sternly, not giving an inch. 'I can't let you go to sleep like this. You know what will happen if you lie there with an over-active mind. Have you forgotten last time?'

She flinched, stifling a sob.

'My lamb, you're _clearly_ upset. Talk to me, mousy, please.'

She hung her head, defeated. Shit, she really wanted to avoid addressing this, but with Frank's persistence and the promise of much-needed coddling afterwards...damn near impossible.

'When me and Columbia went into town...' Frank brightened considerably, rising to sit beside her after she made room. She couldn't re-live it again without him there to comfort her. '...there came a point where we decided to separate for a while.'

As if she would betray her friend like that, even if it did result in a fierce glare from Frank. Columbia needed a reason to stay afloat, and Riff Raff needed the relief. As it happened, she had come to care for both of them.

Frank didn't admonish her for going off on her own, however. He wanted her to finish this, and scolding her would only throw her off.

'And while I was on my own, I noticed a lot more of my surroundings. Both in the mall, and in the local streets when I went there as well.' Frank was liable to kill her after this. Roaming the cruel, selfish world unaccompanied _and_ venturing back to the place where she came? Tie the noose now. 'And in the centre of London, obviously its one if the most densely populated places you could go. Thousands of people cross through there everyday.'

She paused, squeezing his hand to fight the tears. Crying would come later. She needed to articulate this herself.

'And I saw not one missing person flyer. No front page story in the newspaper. No devoted search parties. The world just kept on turning, as if I'd never left. As if I was never there at all. Even when I stood on my own fucking street there was nothing. All those people and not one person knows that I'm here. Not one person cared that I disappeared. If anyone had noticed, they sure worked tirelessly to find me.'

Frank tried to interrupt. 'Lessie, I-.'

'But then I realised. Those people don't care about me. My friends don't care about me. My mother doesn't care about me. After all this time-.' Her throat closed up, putting her head in her hands. Frank felt his heart break a little, seeing her tiny shoulders shaking. She spoke with a voice thick, and wavering with emotion. 'Am I even here, if I'm alone?'

Then she snapped.

She melted into Frank's arms, sobbing, and Frank could do nothing but hold her and wait until she cried herself out.

He detested things like this. He welcomed her tears about anything - anxiety, injury, nightmares, anger. No one else could make a dent in those problems other than him. He had all the power, without him, she would drown. And she knew that.

But this? Nothing. He could do nothing. It made him feel idle, inadequate. A spare part. He couldn't sing the traumatic past away, nor bury the unhealthy exposure under passionate intercourse, not even kiss her and promise that he would make everything okay.

He didn't have the control.

'Oh, darling, I'm so sorry... you poor, poor little mouse, it's alright! Darling it's alright, don't panic. You're safe here, Frankie's got you... you just let it all out now, there's a good girl...'

In time, her crying subsided enough to let her speak.

'I didn't ask for this.' Her tone was lifeless, and it chilled Frank to the core. 'My life is not some debt to repay. I only wanted one person to care, surely that isn't too much? I deserve that, right?'

'Flower, listen to me.' Frank sat up and prised Lessie away from him. A damp puddle of tears stained his sheer sleeve into opaque. He cupped both flushed cheeks, foreheads almost touching. 'You were born from a woman who wasn't ready to be a parent. Now I can't change that, as much as it breaks my heart, I can't take that away for you. But in time, my little mouse, that won't matter! You're here now, I'm looking after you. I care about you. You are so loved here, darling - so loved! Magenta loves you, and Columbia idolises you, my girls didn't want to leave you they were so taken...' He pulled back, solemn, sighing at her wary expression. 'And me, well,' he toyed with her hands, lowering his gaze with a soft murmur to make the performance as convincing as possible. 'I'm afraid I don't quite know how to express the way I feel about you. How honoured I am to have you. Wild horses would not drag me away from you now. I know you find this hard to believe,' he pinched her cheek, smiling at her to break the tension. 'But _I_ appreciate you. I'm proud of you. I _love_ you - could you at least believe that?'

Not brave enough to look him in the face, she nodded once.

'Trust me, with everything you have, when I promise you you'll never have to feel alone again. _This_ is your family now.'

She continued to stare at the floor. 'Sorry to have to put you through this again,' she whispered. 'Most people would be over it by now. What with all the help you've given me, and -.' She shook her head slightly. 'I know I'm overbearing, and quite a handful most of the time. I don't tell you enough, but I'm so grateful to you.' Her voice quieting to barely distinguishable, she said, 'Nobody's ever loved anybody as much as I love you.'

She didn't need to know Frank had exceptional hearing.

He placed a gently hand under her chin, tilting her head up to look him in the eye. He gazed into those round, puffy panda eyes - and winked. Just the once.

She giggled tearfully, but preferred to be back in his arms again, resting against his shoulder and feeling his strong hands on her back.

Her sniffling quieted, but the ticking of the clock paid no heed.

She found herself thinking about time. Time, that healed everything. Time, the most valuable currency. Time, the one cruel chasm or the one heavenly bridge between two desperate lovers.

A time before this, a time after this. A time when she felt excited here, special and exclusive. A time when she felt, with the help of her friends and a little old-fashioned faith, she could do anything. A time when aristocrats sat in this room, in this chair, enjoying coffee and brandy after some tedious social engagement, where the men discussed politics and the woman gossiped about who was getting cheated on, who was getting used for money. A time when Juniper sat here, phantom hair flowing freely over translucent shoulders covered with enigmatic silk. A time where Frank sat here with her, perhaps holding her in the way he held Sprite now, both half-asleep and in bliss.

Perhaps Juniper didn't know of her lover's temperament until it was too late. Perhaps she ran out of time.

'It's late, my darling,' Frank murmured into her hair. 'My room?'

She nodded sleepily. Frank rose, cradling her like a paperweight, as he slowly ascended the stairs, one by one, taking every precaution not to disturb her.

She only vaguely remembered feeling the firm mattress, silky sheets and soft pillows moving beneath her head. She sort of recalled feeling something soft and comforting slipping between her arms. She retained a tiny recollective sliver of being turned on her side, adjusted, and then wrapped in a pair of strong, protective arms.

The light went out after she'd fallen asleep.

* * *

The first few hours after a meltdown always made Lessie a little delirious. Sometimes she tossed and turned until the sun came up the next morning. Other times, she'd take herself off sleepwalking. The worst occurrence involved her letting herself into the laboratory, and had one leg hiked up over the edge of the tank when Frank found her. Frank kept an extra firm hold on her tonight to keep they from happening again, which meant the only option available to her involved a series of nonsensical sleep-talking.

This, too, was not an unusual occurrence. Many a night Frank had stroked her silver tresses while she slurred about fairies or jellyfish or mushrooms. It was too entertaining to respond to these bizarre statements, eyes closed and relaxed, and see what funny conversations would come out.

Tonight bore no exception. She liked to lay _on_ him, and shuffled over to do so now, legs splayed, arms loosely draped around his neck. She reached up to pat him on the head, and mumbled into the curve of his neck: 'It's okay, Frankie, it's just the light. You don't really look like a girl.'

He chuckled, rubbing her back. 'You've put my mind at ease, my love.'

'I know,' she slurred. 'I'm the best.'

Shoulders shaking in silent laughter, he shifted her position and kissed her hair. 'You make me so happy, little mouse. Do you know that?'

Only her deep breathing responded, and Frank thought she'd fallen into a deeper sleep. He had almost dozed off himself, thinking about what he'd treat her to the next morning, when she spoke again.

'Juniper made you happier.'

This one rang so clear it was impossible to miss what she'd said. Despite it not making any sense, Frank still frowned. The second time she'd mentioned this Juniper - perhaps it was a childhood memory, or the subject of a nightmare?

'Juniper isn't real, my sweet. You don't compare to anyone. Perhaps you dreamt her up, or read about her in a storybook?'

She shook her head vehemently into the crook of his neck. 'You've forgotten her. She would cry if she found out.'

Frank massaged her hair, frown deepening. This wasn't quite funny anymore. Just where had she fabricated this from?

'She could cry at the drop of a hat - you told her that once.'

'Alright, Lessie, stop this now. Wake up at once-.'

'She could cry on command - most of the time she just wanted your attention.'

He dug a hand into her hair and gave a rough yank.

'Ow!' She bolted upright, fully awake. She glared at him, hurt, annoyed and a little scared. 'Frankie!'

'Oh, darling,' Frank pretended to have just woken up himself, looking back at her a little dazed and confused. 'Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to trap your hair.' Her eyes softened as she realised it was a small accident.

An 'accident'.

'Come on now, lie down. Go back to sleep.'

'Can't sleep properly like this,' she mumbled as she turned away to make herself comfortable. 'I keep having weird dreams.'

He wrapped his arms around her (he wasn't letting her go at all tonight, regardless of how uncomfortable she became) and kissed her shoulders. 'What were you dreaming about?'

'I don't know.' She sighed, snuggling further down into the bedclothes. 'I can never remember.'

 _Good_ , Frank thought, _if they're anything similar to what you're talking about then I don't want you to_ -.

'I feel like I should though.' Her voice grew thick as she talked herself to sleep, and threatened to take Frank with her. He wanted to hear this first. 'Like it's clear as day when I'm dreaming but it's gone as soon as I wake up. It's there - I can almost recollect it, but it feels like I've forgotten something important. I can't attribute it to anything that feels right. Eventually it will come to me, but I need a phrase or an expression or a smell to jog it. You know what I mean?'

'Sort of.' He didn't at all. 'But I think you're just tired, darling. You've exhausted yourself today, and you shouldn't look too hard into things like that. It's not healthy.' He considered telling her about the sleep-talking, but decided against it. It was just asking for more trouble. 'Now close your eyes and think of something nice.'

Lessie drifted off to sleep long before Frank did. He watched his beloved little mouse indulge in the rest that evaded him, captivated while she slept.

While she dreamed of Juniper.

* * *

 **Rocky Horror was fucking fantastic guys. Stephen Webb was fantastic as Frank and Kristan Lavercombe... well, he IS Riff Raff. 100% going again!**

 **Alma Oakley**


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

_Frank?_

 _Now. Downstairs._

 _Really not well._

 _Not long. An hour, maybe._

 _Couldn't sleep...found her there._

 _So much weight._

 _Spaced out - not aware of anything._

 _Gently now, that's it._

 _Eyes! So yellow!_

 _Try not to get upset, we'll sort this out._

 _Swollen. They look like golf clubs._

 _Well no wonder. Look, she's taken the whole lot._

 _Should have known. Under my nose the whole time. Should have known._

 _Nothing. I am shining it, right in her eye, look. There's nothing._

 _Mind her head, it's bleeding._

 _Feel that. It's not beating at all, is it? It feels like it's humming._

 _Have you seen this before on her ankle?_

 _Not so tight, Frank, you'll hurt her._

 _Go now. I can't deal with this all at once. Thank you, but just - please just let me be with her._

 _Darling...whatever it is we'll sort this. Come back to me, little mouse, that's all you have to do. You don't even have to be nice to me. Just come back and we can fix this. I'm on your side, my poor lamb and I need you. Please don't leave me._

 _You can't leave me._

* * *

Sprite knelt up atop her bedsheets, wailing.

She didn't know how she'd gotten there, why she was petrified to within an inch of her life, or even what she was looking at really. She was here, and she didn't like it.

Her head screamed in pain. The headache seems to pulse and writhe between skin and skull - the clutching of her temples with a white-knuckle grip might have contributed to the discomfort. Something wet seeped between her legs. Sore and uncomfortable. Her shrill, cat-like screeching hurt her own ears, both pounded and ached akin to that of a burst eardrum. She couldn't get a grip on any hair to tear out. Her mouth felt like sandpaper, her throat razor blades. In a world of pain and discomfort, darkness and confusion. It didn't even seem real. She sensationalised hovering above this horrific mural, watching herself venture on the downward spiral. The sobbing was so _loud_. That could have been her, surely? She couldn't even feel it.

The room lit up and it _burned_ her eyes, burned like fire, burned like those scalding eye drops as a kid. A kid? Maybe. Whatever the timeline, it littered her skin with sacks of pus. It was suppose to be a secret. They didn't know that she knew about it. But that confused her, now, thinking back on it. Secrets are supposed to be fun.

She threw herself backwards (smacking an almighty bang vibrating through the iron headboard) and tried to pull the sheets over her face. Her legs made gyrating effort to push them off but it kept her arms from tugging the material loose. Her nails missed a few times, and scratched blood into her palms. Anything to get away from that light.

Too many legs. Horses, even. Or a Chinese dragon. Too many pairs of feet came thundering in the room at once. No one has that many pairs of feet. The monsters under the stairs, they'd evolved. They'd retreated, re-strategised and come back with eight legs. A spider the size of a cat leaping into her bed and putting its hairy legs in her mouth. She should probably keep it closed then, but couldn't stop screaming.

They held her down first. They clamped her arms, much too strong for her soft bones and delicate skin. It wasn't fair, they were smart, they knew how to think. They had the extraordinary and the supernatural on their side. She prayed to never see them again and already they were touching her.

Her legs took over for the time being, flailing and kicking wildly. Contact somewhere, anywhere, was better than being strapped down here like some experiment.

A great heaving convulse rippled through her body, finishing at the head where a streak of vomit promptly spilled from her mouth. One of them pushed her head to the side and kept it there while the smell of her insides permeated the room. She couldn't breathe. She would die in here, that was certain.

When they let her go and she could focus again, her legs were immobile. That was their plan all along. They'd probably given her something to make her ill, injected through a painless needle or perhaps it was not instigated but coincidences were on their side, maybe it was the air, the very air that she breathed, nothing but a cocktail of poisonous fumes slowly turning her brain to mush and this day marked the culmination. She wondered how many other innocent civilians knew of their predicament. To think of it, the whole world was doomed. If only she'd live long enough to warn them. Legs splayed, each ankle tied to the bedpost in a crude sailor's knot. She imagined the sensation of frantically struggling against the restraints but saw no movement. Her feet didn't even twitch.

Her eyes had fallen closed. Never mind flailing feet, she couldn't see anything. Another tactic crossed off the list. Implicating fatigue, trying to tire her out before she could overpower them.

Someone else cried too (or her voice had gotten deeper?) near to her, and she felt sad for them. It was hard to tell in this pandemonium, but it sounded like a nice man. Sound came to her in fuzzy snippets, but she could fill in the rest. She was a clever girl.

'Barbaric!'

'Total animals!'

'Untie her now!'

She liked that man. He could stay.

Another hand pressed against her forehead but it wasn't the hand of a nice person. It was cold. And long. 'Sky-high. Raging fever.' _Well of course I'm not sky-high you fucking idiot you tied me to the fucking bed. Sky high indeed_.

She tired to bite the hand that felt her but didn't move fast enough. Besides, her teeth had shattered, and the ones that didn't just fell out. She saw it happen not long ago. Another sickly belch arose out of her and she hoped she wouldn't vomit again. Not another reason to look away from them for too long.

In a rush of excruciating sensation, she found her voice again.

She screamed obscenities at them even though it hurt, she hurled insults such as 'I fucking hate all of you' and 'I hope they catch you and break your necks' and above all 'why won't you just let me die.'.

Someone slammed the door. It wobbled the entire room. She heard howling. It was an animal sound.

The disembodied mouth that lived next to her ear seemed to be annoyed about something. Can't think why.

'You, stupid idiot girl, will be the death of me.'

A strange ache billowed in her shoulder, before technicolour danced behind her closed eyelids. The world began to swim.

'He should have given you up when he had the chance.'

She bubbled under, and did not resurface.

* * *

Riff Raff walked out, drained syringe in hand, to Magenta sitting on one side of a loveseat, cradling Furter's head in her lap. He rolled his eyes - suppressed the urge to spit on him - and dropped the needle in the wastebasket on the way back to his room. The glass clinked softly atop an identical syringe, used to sedate Columbia.

Riff made the executive decision not long after the earthlings has paraded their way back into the house. The exuberant groupie has almost bounded over to him and wittered on, petrified, about how their cooperative work had been discovered, and even though she swore she didn't mean for it to happen, she was at a loss for what to do now.

Celeste had drawn it out. Celeste, who weighed less than a bag of sugar wet through, stood one and a half meters tall and cried at the mention of insects. That girl had dangled Columbia's secret in front of her nose and somehow succeeded in forcing her to disclose every detail of the inner workings. Celeste even knew about the financial account. (That was supposed to exist).

If Columbia were that susceptible to Celeste, she might as well tie her (and his) own noose with Furter. If he ever found out they'd been trafficking drugs (albeit on a very minuscule scale) as a little side project without him knowing...it didn't bear thinking about. The consequences of which could not be fathomed even by Riff's macabre imagination.

Therefore he kept close tabs on Columbia for the evening. When she routinely prepared her late evening snack of sliced apples smothered with cinnamon and almond butter (literally what even was that? Was she trying to make herself sick?) he pierced the fruit's flesh with the hypodermic needle and pressed the plunger all the way down. Three minutes later she could barely stand and eight minutes later she was knocked out. She currently lay front down in her bed, snoring like a man with her mouth wide open. It'd been four years, and Riff still didn't know what Furter saw in her.

Riff Raff began the laborious journey up the stairs, rather tone deaf to Furter's sobs and shrieks. He sounded half-mad. He'd certainly driven the girl insane. This facade was nothing more than a spoilt child throwing a temper tantrum. He had disobeyed instructions, and had played too rough with his shiny new toy. He didn't listen, despite the warnings. The toy had broken, and now he was upset. Riff would have told him to suck it up and behave better next time, but all that was fruitless when Magenta would dash straight out and buy him another one.

And another one. And another one. Another one after that too and probably a few more. As long as it took for the lesson to sink in about how to play nicely with one's toys.

Well, this one wasn't broken yet. Perhaps they could fix it. _It wouldn't work as well as before though, you don't really want it, do you?_

 _Would_ this come to a head? _Would_ there come a day where Furter threw his dirty, used, chewed up toy away? Riff envisioned Furter playing with her even with arms ripped off, button eyes unraveled or white stuffing bursting through broken stitching. He honestly couldn't see Furter ever getting bored of his doll.

His precious little darling girl.

He took advantage of Furter's quarters, or more specifically their vacancy. As utter pandemonium unfolded downstairs, now was the perfect time to gain unprecedented, inconspicuous access into real time evidence within Celeste's decomposing roots.

* * *

Frank stumbled from the room and collapsed onto the first available seat, sobbing and shrieking into his hands. He couldn't believe this has happened. He didn't understand what had happened. He always found it difficult to settle Lessie after a taxing day but _this?_ Screaming and crying and cursing as if she didn't recognise him at all? Something very serious bad happened inside her head and Frank just couldn't bear it.

Magenta followed suit, trembling, just in the nick of time. She carried a small bowl with her. Thank heavens she disposed of the contents and disinfected the container, for she took one look at Frank and shoved it under his nose.

He doubled over and miserably vomited into the bowl. Magenta made a fair effort to catch all of it and avoid getting it on her at the same time. One handedly she aimed the bowl and with the other she rubbed Frank's back, soothing him until he finished, pale-faced and sweating. When she was sure he was done, she quickly emptied the bow a second time and cleaned herself up before running back to Frank. He was just sitting there. Shoulders forward, head down. She tentatively approached him, and placed a tender hand on his shoulder.

'Are you alright?'

All at once he melted in her arms. She sat beside him and cradled his head in her lap, stroking his damp curls while he sobbed. He stayed like that for a long time. Face swollen, nose bubbling, one stray eyelash plastered to his cheek.

Well, nobody's perfect.

The poor man was just in a world of pain. Emotionally fragile as he was, something like this could put him over the edge. And the Old Queen knows he had a worthwhile catalyst.

Magenta had pondered this many a time over these eventful six months. Even by Transylvanian standards, Frank was a strange character. He flitted from obsession to obsession on a whim, he hated being on his own, so easily bored that he was passed around numerous departments like a party favour until he ended up here. The authorities put him on a planet millions of light years away when he was at his most vulnerable so they wouldn't even have to look at him. And the Vitus siblings, of all people, were stationed to make sure he didn't kill himself. At least she wasn't expected to run the disgusting press reports that covered everything up.

Children had a very strong reaction towards him. Either they were paralysed with fear or they were utterly infatuated from the world go. There was no in between. A lot of people had a lot of feelings towards Frank. An equal mix of positive and negative, in Magenta's opinion. Frank had no trouble reciprocating these feelings. If Frank established an enemy...Magenta had been weirdly unphased by Hugo's violent and bloodied exit, but she had seen situations like these. All the time. But if Frank loved you? He'd make you feel like you were the only person in the world. He'd smother you with affection, he'd lavish upon you day and night, he'd pleasure you again and again and again. He'd kill for you, die for you, through his soul at your feet...for about a week. As many broken hearts and passion filled love letters had found out the hard way.

But something about this girl had stuck with him. This scrawny, timid, tiny little slip of a girl had quite literally stumbled into their lives and wound locks of her silver hair around Frank's heart-strings. She'd seen symptoms of this lovesickness before, but never for this long. Half a year...that was like Frank's whole life! Therefore, as turbulent and unpredictable as he may be - scary and downright sadistic at times - she truly did believe he loved this girl. He adored her, even, and she adored him. He'd do anything to make her happy and genuinely didn't _want_ to hurt her. Perhaps _she_ would finally put a stop to all of this...

Eventually, Frank stopped crying. She looked down at him. Was he asleep? No, he continued to sniffle and whimper. But for the time being he hugged her knees and she stroked his hair, and for the time being it felt nice.

Sailing into the eye of the storm.

'Frankie?' She murmured softly. 'Do you want anything?'

He shook his head, breath still hitching. He whimpered, 'What happened?'

'How did she end up like this?' He nodded. She paused for a moment, wondering whether to tell him. Perhaps it would be better to sleep on it and revise the series of events tomorrow. But he grunted again, rather impatiently this time. 'Well, Frank...I was just laying in bed and all of a sudden I heard this almighty crash. I went downstairs to see what it was and I found Sprite—.'

'—Lessie.'

'—Lessie there.' Magenta really didn't care what they called her, they all knew it was the same person. 'She was in a really bad way. She was sprawled out on the kitchen floor, surrounded by all these cans and bottles. She must have discovered not only our newest hiding place for the alcohol but also how to infiltrate the locks as well. She'd cut the back of her head, and there was blood smeared on the corner of the countertop so she must have caught her head on that as she went down.' Magenta grimaced before deciding to disclose: 'Her favourite pink sleeping shirts were spiked. I had to throw them away.'

Frank groaned softly.

'Her eyes were open but she wasn't looking at me. She wasn't looking at anything, but tears just streamed down her face. I tried to get her to sit up by herself, or to talk to me, but she wouldn't respond to anything. Until,' she added with a grotesque surge of glee, 'I mentioned your name. I think I said the sentence, "I'll get Frank", and she sort of moved a little bit and said, "Frankie". She could articulate words that wasn't a complete duplicate of what I had said, so I took that as a positive sign.'

'So then of course I started to help her. She didn't fight me off, but I don't think she even realised anyone was touching her. I could have been anyone and she wouldn't have known any different.' She winced. Probably not a good idea to tell Frank that. 'Just as I was figuring out a plan, asked for you again. Thick, slurred, but much clearer than before. "Frankie," she said. "I want Frankie." So of course I woke you up and led you downstairs, and by that time my brother had arrived because he grew suspicious of all the strange noises.' She massaged his hair. 'It was a team effort, but we managed it, didn't we?'

Frank sighed heavily. He was awake, blinking, but not taking anything in. Just lying there in a haze of his own heartache and fear. Magenta couldn't imagine how he must be feeling. She'd never cared that much about anyone, and Frank would have been the last person on her list to do the same. It was times like these that reminded her he really was just a broken man. Mistreated, used and abused by his own government, his own people. All she ever really wanted was for him to be happy. And she would have laid there with him all night if he asked, but her eyelids were so heavy and her leg _really_ hurt...

She nudged him ever so slightly, to which he grumbled and sat up. His head rested against the back of the sofa, tilted up towards the ceiling. New tears aggressively visible in his beautiful eyes.

'I want to see her.' His throat had been sucked dry.

'You can't go in just yet, Frankie. You need to give the sedative enough time to take effect. Make sure it really sinks in and does it's job.'

'How much longer?'

'Give it another half an hour.'

'That's too _long!_ ' He shouted and clawed at the sides of his head again. Magenta absolutely _hated_ it when he did that. 'I want her _now_ , my poor baby must be terrified! You strapped her down, kicking and screaming like some animal!' He cocked an eyebrow, all of a sudden, and stared. A cold thrill shot through her. 'She thought we were all strangers. How do you think she felt, dazed and confused, fighting off people she didn't know, being tied down to a bed like that? You probably traumatised the poor little thing out of her damn mind!'

'We _had_ to restrain her.' Magenta's voice rang clear, and deathly calm. 'Don't you _dare_ start throwing around accusations like that. It's not funny and it could get you into serious trouble, do you understand?'

His left hand compulsively went to his mouth. He felt bad. 'I'm scared.'

'I know, we all are.' She sighed, putting a forgiving arm around his shoulders. He leaned his head on her shoulder. 'Take my advice. Go upstairs, take a nice bath, do whatever you need to do to settle yourself and clear your head. Get some sleep, and we'll work through all of this in the morning. Hmm?'

He sat there for a long time. Thinking. 'Fine,' he sighed and pushed Magenta away from him. He stalked out without so much as a thank you.

Magenta put her hands over her face and groaned. Her head thumped, her stomach ached, her leg had never felt this heavy and tight. But she wasn't going to sit here any longer.

She heaved herself up, leaning heavily on both shaking arms. She kept a white knuckle grip on both velvety arms to get her balance, then gritted her teeth as she hobbled to her room. She was tired. She was just so tired. Multicoloured designs danced within her vision while the peripheral began to swim. Each step on her bad leg sent a swarm of needles rushing all the way to the knee.

Thank heavens all three of the girl's rooms were on the same floor.

Her coma-like sleep was disturbed once, by the familiar sound of her brother helping followed by an almighty crash.

She rolled her eyes, and went straight back to sleep.

* * *

Frank did listen to some of Magenta's advice. He bypassed his room and went straight to the Zen Room, where he sat in a scalding hot bath for over an hour. He got through a pack and a half of cigarettes, barely aware of the fact. He sat there flicking his black lighter - his favourite, the one with pink kiss prints all over the design - on the _under_ side of the container. There was nothing there to flick. It took a good ten minutes before he realised. He fell asleep two times and fainted the other, surrounded by smouldering fag butts, floating in the water like cancerous bath bombs. Only once did he come to with his mouth and nose submerged in water, a small stream of silver bubbles taunting him that he was still alive. What a shame.

On autopilot, he decided to leave the tub without draining it and walk, naked, trailing water everywhere, back into his room. Maybe to sleep for twelve or fourteen hours. That would be nice.

Frank stood in the doorway watching Riff watching the screen long before he made himself known. The anger was there, but it was subdued. Like a roaring fire in the next room. That pathetic excuse of a manservant had taken it upon himself to waltz into his master's private quarters (only the _elite_ were allowed in there. And Persephone, if both her and Lessie had been good girls that day), infiltrate his technology and stand there like a mouldy lemon with the door wide open. Presumptions enough to assume he wouldn't get caught, or if he did, he'd get away with it? Even for _that_ it was a fucking dick move.

Luck was on the rat's side that night. Because the events unfolding a short drive away from here proved to be more interesting and worth his time than the one man freak show in front of him.

The house stood completely empty. The first time Frank or Riff had ever seen it that way. All the previous, frequent, regular checks totted up more results of violent and threatening behaviour, rampant drug use and unsafe, torrid sex. But here on the screen today they saw no distress. No noise. No inhabitants. The house was still a fucking pigsty just like last time Frank visited but one could listen out and here a mouse scurrying. Frank expected two or more intoxicated figures to come slinking through the front door as was the unhappy surprise the first time, but Frank stood patiently for twenty minutes whiles Riff flocked through and took notes for each of the stills on the screen, and heard nothing. Not even the creak if old floorboards.

Living room. Trashed. Empty bottles everywhere, shards of glass winking dangerous in the moonlight. Half-eaten pizzas still in their boxes and bartered old porn magazines dry and stiff with stale ejaculate littered the forlorn mural, inviting all sorts of flies and bugs to set up shop. The smell must be repulsive.

Kitchen. Even worse. Counter tops that probably weren't meant to be brown sported cracks and chips, huge silver knives were settled blade facing up or just left on the table and some on the floor. The powdery reminisce of cocaine smeared across the otherwise elegant black tabletop. Escobar himself had put a twenty pound note and a grey credit card to good use, but left both assets at the scene. The 'clear doors' Lessie so desperately cited had since been smashed in.

Conservatory. Packed to the roof with home-grown cannabis.

No other room in the house fared too much better. He wanted to give the woman a chance, he really did. She was Lessie's mother for goodness sake. The only reason she was here. He had to owe her that at least. And Frank was a great believer in second chances. Everyone deserves a second chance. Frank knew that better than anyone. But from what he'd seen here, even in only the short time in which he'd been monitoring the household and the activities, it was abundantly clear that the environment nor the parent was suitable to take care of a baby. Especially not _this_ baby. The only family poor Lessie had left. He couldn't sit by and do nothing while history repeated itself. He just couldn't.

But then...then what? He hadn't really thought that bit through. Frank was notoriously ambitious but this was pushing it. What would they do? How would they do it? They couldn't go to the Earth bound authorities, even if they could they'd used an illegal method to obtain evidence. The outcome of that would have been a one way ticket into the care system anyway, and Frank would die before he saw that happen. They couldn't go into the house and abduct the child - perhaps he should say rescue - yet they couldn't sit down over a coffee with the woman and convince her to hand it over!

It was Lessie. Again, it was Lessie. She had worked her magic and captivated Frank into pursuing the unimaginable feat. And she would expect it done. She wouldn't let him forget it if he ever disappointed her.

And then they got to Lessie's room.

Someone was in there.

Someone was perched on the end of Lessie's bed, smoking a big fat joint while a CD quietly played a melancholy rock song on repeat. Someone with a bottle in their left hand, scars up and down their arms and tears streaming down their face.

Someone with excessively long white hair, and an even wider belly.

Lessie's mother was crying, and missing her daughter.

And then the screen turned black.

He almost exclaimed in annoyance but caught himself in time. He felt compelled to stand partly obstructed by the door frame while Riff Raff manipulates the dials and buttons with intense concentration.

Hundreds of smaller squares showing various stills came up on the screen. An additional thin red square outlined each one as Riff scrolled through, sifting through thousands and thousands of scenes of recorded footage from every room on every day. Every day since they first arrived here all those years ago.

Riff didn't have to look far under the selection of today's date until he found what he was looking for. Frank's heart sank when he selected the private room. The default frame - a still showing full view of the large bed and a section of the wardrobe - expanded to fill the whole screen. Then Riff toggled the switch to fast forward the footage, and waited patiently for something Frank still couldn't figure out. Seeing them fuck in high speed, Frank's roaring instincts were to seize the man by his lapels and strangle him till he conked out but something told him to wait. There was still time to grab him if his hand went in his pants.

Frank's stifled yawn stopped with abrupt surprise when Riff stopped the high speed. He had selected a piece of footage which showed Lessie's walking into the room, by herself, and standing in front of the wardrobe. She looked tiny in front of that thing. Small, but resolute. She had that firm look about her sweet face. She had been on a mission earlier today.

Except, what was she doing? She heaved a candelabra (one that probably weighed more than her) with both hands and positioned it just so. She adjusted her stance a few times.

Just...so.

No fucking way.

She pushed down with all her might and into the wall she turned.

Had Frank not been leaning on the wall, he would have gone down like a sack of cement.

A few minutes later (according to the screen) she came back out. Over Riff Raff's shoulder, because she flopped about like a dead fish under some sort of abhorrent sedative. Riff held a needle in his other hand. Riff switched rooms to follow himself out of the private room, down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he sat Lessie with her back against the cabinet. Her head slumped against her right shoulder. Riff left the frame and came back with an armful of half drained or fully drained bottles of alcohol, which he positioned about her prone body like scenic props in a sideshow. Once the evil man deemed his forlorn mural satisfactory, he turned and left. As if nothing happened.

And Frank watched in an almost comical state of shock horror as Riff trimmed the kitchen footage and deleted everything else.

The file from the private room was still there, and would still be dated. The only drawback with this technology: one could never permanently delete all traces of footage. The still would instead be replaced by a grey screen with three lighter grey dots running through the middle, and obviously one couldn't press play on them. And, as an added security step, Riff touched and dragged the square with his finger to the so-called deleted scenes folder. Inside were rows and rows of grey squares with grey dots, each underlined date clearly separating the groups, but other than that there was no way of telling what used to be there.

They didn't make a habit of deleting footage. In fact the only anomaly was the unfortunate periods in which Hugo pulled Lessie's strings and covered his tracks. The normal pattern was maybe a handful of squares per year. Someone came too early, or ransacked Frank's medical stash because they weren't feeling well and didn't want to get in to trouble. Trivial things like that.

Except the first year. They'd deleted hundreds of hours of footage then. Frank shrugged. Must have been paranoid.

Frank growled in his throat.

The man jumped a foot in the air and tried to hide his fear. Frank wasn't in the mood for a big lecture tonight (it was his lucky day!) and as it happened, didn't think he needed one. Frank knew. And Riff knew that Frank knew. Riff had fucked up. And now he'd have the whole night to lie there in the dark and think about what he'd done.

'You, foul evil pathetic little cockroach, can get the fuck out of my room.'

He did. And quietly.

* * *

This is where Magenta's advice became redundant. Frank diverted from his earlier plan to take a cocktail of drugs and anaesthetise himself to sleep. He instead decided to pull a black nightshirt over his head, splash some cold water on his face, and went to see Lessie.

He opened her door ever so carefully. She lay there, spread out like some exhibit, sound asleep. Her excessively bony abdomen rose and fell with each breath. Her head lolled to one side, much like the state that putrid piss-flap left her in. Her neck would be awfully sore this time tomorrow.

He took a few tentative steps towards the bed. He didn't want to startle her, or wake her entirely. Magenta said she had been sedated but Frank tried that himself when the girls came to stay and it only took effect for half the time. So he took his steps carefully.

First and foremost, he got her out of those restraints. He unfastened the leather belts ever so carefully, wincing and trying not to cry when they peeled away from raw flesh, such a delicate white turned into livid red. The dents were deep enough to feel the shape with one's fingers, even in the dark.

He relieved the pressure on her other ankle, and took time to study that mark. How had he not seen it before? He ghosted his fingers over the familiar shape, stroking the slightly raised skin ever so gently. It wasn't pigmented enough to be an authentic birthmark yet the shape and colour were too precise to be a tattoo. Frank looked at his precious girl - really looked, as if he'd never looked before - and all he saw was an undernourished, poorly little girl who just wanted a safe place to call home and someone to be there for her when she needed them.

He sighed. _What am I going to do with you?_

He finished loosening the restraints, dropped the belts out the window (he'd never use them again) and climbed in beside his little mouse. He adjusted her to lie facing away from him so he could hold her, and easily imagine that she was asleep. Just the same as they did every other night.

Nope. Nothing wrong here.

On the off-chance that she could feel him, Frank grazed his long nails across her back in the way that she liked, and sang to her as he played with her hair. Her white back followed his gentle fingertips with goosebumps. He must be doing something right.

When he felt his own adrenaline going down, he settled in next to her, his head resting in the pillow just above hers. He pressed languid kisses to the top of her head and nape of her neck until his eyes began to droop close.

He sighed, mouth so close to her ear it registered not as a sound at all but more of a warm caress: 'I'm sorry, darling.'

Rest would be the operative word.

Frank lay still with his eyes closed for hours on end, too high on adrenaline and too concerned for Lessie's welfare to drift off to sleep. He dozed lightly but was frequently disturbed by noises from Lessie as she tried to communicate, dosed up to the eyeballs.

He ended up turning her to face him and cradling her tiny figure against his strong frame, playing with her hair and stroking her back as if she were merely asleep. He murmured nonsensical words, soothing sounds, until the grunting and whimpering stopped, fading instead into an unhealthy forced version of sleep. And it was during that time, lying there prone and utterly at his mercy, that Frank finally began to realise just how thin and ill-looking she really was.

He could hear Riff Raff scoffing at him, even in his head. _Well I'm glad you've finally caught on._

Her porcelain face laid bare to relaxed features resting on his chest, but with swollen, cracked lips, extremely pale skin and harsh purple bruises under both eyes. Frank hadn't seen her for a while without all that makeup on. She did a remarkable job of covering up all those imperfections.

Her arms and legs were thinner than ever, elbows sticking out like knives and just covered in yellowing bruises. Tickle her with a feather and she'd have a new bruise for a week. He could see every rib and the grotesquely defined condition of her pelvis, second only to her rail-like thighs that didn't touch even whilst curled up like she was now. Her hands were cold to the touch and her nails, usually kept in perfect condition, appeared dry and slightly brittle. She was covered in goosebumps, even now when she was sound asleep. As Magenta had pointed out while the three of them man handled her into bed, her ankles had certainly swollen - and her legs, he had to agree, rather resembled golf clubs. Her hair, as always, remained untouched. Still as healthy and shiny as ever, smelling as delicious and addicting as the very first time he'd been able to rock her and stroke her hair. But even Frank had to admit - gently ruffling the silver tresses - it didn't feel exactly the same.

And if it weren't for the entire royal fucking crest emblazoned on her ankle, all of his worries would end there.

Just what the fuck had they landed themselves in now.

* * *

 **Remember when I write twenty chapters in one year and then fucking six the year after. Yeah, me neither.**

 **Alma Oakley**


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Hey guys. Me again.**

 **First of all I'd like to apologise. I know I'm under no obligation to update regularly but I try and stick by that, and I feel like I left everyone hanging without an explanation. The long and short of it is that I've had a rather difficult time these past few months and it impacted upon my writing. As much as I love doing it and it's a welcome distraction, I couldn't get immersed in it the way I normally do and everything seemed to come out wrong.**

 **I'm not a huge fan of the previous chapter so I probably will go back and edit that one in the near future. Keep an eye out for that if you are interested.**

 **If you are still here: thank you. From the bottom of my heart.**

 **And lastly, I could never leave this story unfinished.**

* * *

'We need to have a serious talk.'

They sat in an extraterrestrial triangle, bathed in the sickly blue light of early morning. Shaking, silent. Staring at each other, at nothing, at death, with a vacant, glazed look in their eyes.

Riff sat on one tattered sofa, his right leg jiggling up and down. One would think the same compulsive habit imploring him to pick at a piece of thread dangling from the torn upholstery applied in a neurological sense, but he had yet to let on that he was actually not able to stop. The nervous wreck, the hollow shell of a man had not slept at all and felt himself slipping away, least not from the shrieking wail of silence. The dark purple bruises and sallow, gaunt cheeks served nothing short of delight to his equally shattered observer.

Frank sat opposite, elegantly perched atop a sofa identical to the first, and took this opportunity to savour the black fear and pure, smouldering hatred emitting from the man before him. He had that knowledge. He held the key to the man's life, itself. And most crucially, he knew what Magenta didn't. And once he disclosed just what the vile creature had done to the girl Magenta so utterly adored (taking his sweet time with that one, of course) he felt a reasonable amount of confidence that Magenta would abandon her loyalties to her sibling (thank fuck for that) and then the man would have nothing. Frank would keep him alive, of course, and make him suffer. Make him live in the sense that his lungs properly functioned and his heart pumped inside his chest, but that would be all. Frank simply couldn't wait.

Magenta sat at the head of this impromptu conference table. In the middle of both men she sat on a floral stool, one leg crossed over the other and her skirts spilling over the edge and breezing about her bare legs. She hadn't slept so much as fainted, and regained consciousness feeling unrefreshed. Despite this, it was her who forced herself to leave her bed, accomplished the tall order of coaxing Frank away from Sprite (who hadn't moved at all since she slipped off, and each rise and fall of her feeble chest echoed tantalisingly close to death) and took a moment to steel herself when she went to fetch Riff Raff. And, without knowing of her brother's earlier endeavours with Columbia, she dosed the poor girl up to her eyeballs with morphine, to keep her quiet and at peace, at least until they made a small amount of headway. And it was her who broke the silence.

Both eerie figures turned to look at her.

'She's dead,' Riff stated, and Frank moaned softly. Magenta glared at him with fire in her eyes but even that left him unfazed. 'What is there to talk about?'

'She's not dead, you imbecile, I stayed with her and heard her breathing all night.'

'I'm preempting.'

'Alright, shut up, you two.' Magenta ran her hands through her hair and sighed heavily. 'The fact is, right now, she's very much alive, and as pivotal as that might be for us, none of us want that to change.' The second glare achieved at least something. Riff shifted uncomfortably, but it felt very much like acting. 'Obviously the first thing we need to establish is what the fuck happened last night.' She nodded at Frank. 'You first.'

The right hand immediately went to his sticky red mouth, long fingers hanging loosely over the over-drawn corners, shaking lightly in the dramatic pause.

Frank had made an appearance to this dysfunctional family meeting in an oversized, worn out, black night dress. Once upon a time it would have flowed effortlessly, hugging every curve and accent in all the right places. Sleek material and intricate lace would have been just the start of an unassuming guest's slow descent into stolen, secret eroticism. Both aliens watching him prepare himself would have said that even they had been caught by surprise once or twice. Only Magenta, however, would have been able to act upon those feelings. Riff could only fantasise.

But now, sitting there and seeing him disheveled, distressed, face swollen from crying, hair matted and tangled, makeup running or otherwise not there at all and the entire aesthetic was an _accident_... it was like looking at a broken doll. Or at least, a very shameful little boy who'd been caught playing with his mother's pretty face paints.

There was nothing evil about him. Nothing sadistic, or immoral, or dangerous.

Rage came as a sudden attack, and filled Magenta, almost to the brim. He was just a normal person, before all of this. He had a nasty temper on him and perhaps a few chocolate chips short of a cookie but _this_ Frank, the Frank that caused all of this and ruined that poor girl's life, the Frank that found relief in hurting people, the dark, iron-fisted, chronically unstable Frank that, in a cruel twist of fate, everyone would remember...he was manufactured. He was scouted by the hungry and the lustful figures in this world. He was broken down and eroded into nothing but pain and fear and painstakingly built back up again.

They didn't have to be there, but she did. She had to live with the memories of the blood and the waste and the vomit. She had to grapple against the images of bruisings, of icy water dripping from black curls, and raw, glistening burns, just for her to sleep at night. She had to sit in quiet rooms and still hear petrified screaming, sobbing, industrial, electrical noises, the buzzing, and buzzing, and buzzing.

Look at him now. Look at life he led, how it had irreparably damaged him, and how it had damaged so many others.

Are they proud, she thought, of what they'd done?

'Well, Lessie had been crying before she went to bed last night. She got herself into a bit of a state-.'

'As per.'

Frank didn't even react. It was _her_ that killed Riff Raff with a glare this time.

'So I took her upstairs, got her settled, and waited until she'd slipped off to sleep before I went into the lab. I always go in there during the night now, it's less distracting if my little mouse is sleeping. Of course, that theory lasted a few hours before you came banging on the door, Magenta, babbling something chronic about finding her in the kitchen, sprawled out and unresponsive.' Magenta caught a flicker of recognition between the two men, but couldn't pinpoint what it was. 'And there she was, sagged against the cabinet like a rag doll. She'd been at the alcohol again. Riff came down not long after and we all helped to get her back into bed. I sat with her for two hours but she didn't make a sound. I talked to her. Sang to her. Squeezed her hand and begged her to squeeze back. You coaxed me back into your bed,' this time Magenta knew exactly why the air crackled, and in her stomach flared ugly shame. 'And I fell asleep. Until she started wailing.'

Riff gave more or less the same version of events. He testified that he had been dozing when he heard worried voices downstairs, and got up to find the pair of them hefting a lifeless body into a bridal's carry. He retired from the girl's room so as not to be disrespectful, but maintained a watchful eye all the same. The only confession he made was that he used an illegal sedative on the girl for their sake and hers, but none of them had any qualms about that.

However, the way Frank glowered at the man unwaveringly, and the almost pitiful way in which Riff cowered away from him, suggested he had a lot more to disclose.

Magenta wouldn't question it, for now. But when this reached the aftermath, she would track both men down and nail them to the wall by their fucking testicles.

'Next,' Magenta continued, as if referring to an invisible agenda. 'The crest.'

An audible shudder ran through all three of them.

'I have nothing to say about that.'

'Me neither. It's there, what can we do about it?'

'Seriously? Are you really being this blaze? Neither of you feel the need to ask _why?_ '

'I can't do that, Magenta. I'm barely hanging on as it is.'

'I think it's genuine.'

'I don't. I felt it. It feels...different. Raised, ever so slightly.'

'It doesn't seem to itch or irritate her. How could it be a tattoo?'

'She's been covering it with makeup every day, she might use soothing cream or something else along with that.'

'Well she obviously doesn't, have you ever seen any?'

'You two seem awfully opinionated on this for having only just discovered it.'

Brother and sister shared a nervous glance.

'We knew,' Magenta admitted, taking one for the team this time. 'She showed me not four months into her stay, and I confided in Riff afterwards.'

Frank stared, furious.

'And I suppose you just neglected to tell me?'

'We didn't tell you because it would have made everything ten times worse. Especially with the state you were in that night.' Frank hung his head, picking at a loose piece of skin on the palm of his hand. 'Riff and I didn't think it would turn out or be anything too serious, and it wasn't causing any major problems. So we left it out.'

Frank sighed, the adrenaline just washing out of him. He leaned forwards, elbows on knees, face in hands. Both could see the damning affect this was having on him. The mental and the physical strain of all the hysteria. And Magenta didn't know about Riff, but it scared the hell out of her.

'Whatever is going on here, has been culminating for a very long time. And Riff,' Frank tossed him a glance, and for the first time ever, he didn't flinch, 'I think you know that better than anyone.' He stared back, astounded. 'She confides in you. I'm not stupid. But I am tired. I can't regulate everything.' His lip quivered, and he may have even smiled. 'You have a connection with her that I'll never be able to understand. And the scraps of nonsensical ravings I get from deliriums and bad dreams, you get from whispered conversations and late night gardening.' Ludicrously long eyelashes brushed his cheeks. 'You know what I'm going to say, don't you?'

His heart slugged against his chest. It physically hurt him, sitting there with the sound of his heart in his head. He paled so quickly that Magenta started to stand up, worried he might keel over any minute. All of a sudden it just started happening too fast. He couldn't breathe. He feared death. He hated Frank. He loved Frank.

He loved Frank.

'I haven't a clue what she talks about.'

Gone, as if he'd been stabbed. Pop. Someone cut the thread.

'But I think you do.'

Time seemed to freeze. Those eyes bored into him for an eternity.

Magenta's voice came out so soft he could barely hear it.

'Riff?' A whimpering sound, almost, similar to the noise she'd make after getting caught in the act by their parents. 'What's he talking about?'

They looked. Pleaded.

'I don't know,' Riff said. Columbia was still lying upstairs. It couldn't end all like this. 'I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to. I think you're just getting yourself too excited.'

A new tear fell from Frank's eye, just one. Tattooed with runny black mascara.

The siblings blatantly ignoring this, Riff settled himself to face forwards and Magenta adjusted her skirts. 'I agree with you that things have been brewing.' Magenta's voice rang clear and travelled far, not weighed down at all by tremors or thick, wretched tears. 'But I think the real issue here is figuring out how to get this finished as quickly as possible so we can get the fuck out of here.'

Even Riff seemed a little surprised.

'What? You can't still think we can come back from this. We need to go home, now, before it's too late.'

Frank almost lunched for her, but stopped himself at the last second.

'And just...just leave her?'

'Have you got a better idea?!' She covered her face with her hands and took a few deep breaths. 'I am not heartless, Frank. I know how much of a crushing decision this is going to be. But you have to _think_ about this now, Frank, you can't keep kidding yourself that in some Hollywood moment, everything's going to click at the last minute and we'll all get our way. Think about how many issues have stacked up on our backs since Sprite came to us. Recollect them now, so I know you understand.'

Frank hated when Magenta addressed him like this. He could handle his own affairs, and he was not a fucking child.

'The lab,' he mumbled. 'That's probably the biggest one, and the gateway into everything else. She walked in on me dissecting that bloated biker and convinced herself she was at fault for his gruesome death.'

' _Convinced_ herself?' Neither of them knew Riff could speak with such emotion. 'Are you shitting me?!'

'Whatever,' he grumbled again, and shifted around with semblance of guilt. 'Then I was prepared to help her relieve that burden from her, but she threw herself at me instead so I had to take...a contingency plan. The ongoing issue with her addiction. Then Hugo, and his song and dance about the whole thing. During that, we almost got caught by the mother in her old house, found out she'd soon be a big sister, and she also got arrested for street fighting like a fucking animal. Then you lot leaving, and my girls coming over instead. Then that awful copper haired girl rocking up out of nowhere and we all remember how that ended up. Then Dax leaving, and she got upset because I was upset. Then discovering that her absence hadn't been that much of a loss to everyone at home, and it broke her heart. Not to mention how ill she's been throughout all this mess.' Frank finished on a whisper. 'And now this.'

In between the tear filled pauses, Riff added the Juniper narrative. The letters, the clearing, the black music box and lacy mouse ears. The tunnel in the dark, and the cryptic clues on the wall.

Magenta thought back to discovering her birthmark, that hallucinogenic piano concerto, and treating her wounds after that night of brutal sadism.

Had Columbia been awake, she would have thrown in not telling anyone about the audition, carrying the secret of her drug trafficking side gig with Riff Raff, and the guilt of getting her sentiments torn up.

And to top it all off, the constant looming of psychotic danger from Frank himself, which nobody seemed to mention.

In the long and short of it, they were fucked. And they had very little time to decide what to do.

Riff asked permission to speak.

'In my opinion, we need to stop worrying about what other people _feel_ , and focus instead on how we are going to come out the other side of this.' He fixed the man opposite him with a steely glare. 'We are burning the candle at both ends here. And no matter how deeply we might feel about some of these unfortunate circumstances, some things will just _have_ to be compromised.'

Frank understood the wordless agreement. They knew what she discovered, where she'd been, and what she'd say when she came back around. They had to lie, and they had to lie fast.

'My brother's right.' Magenta pushes her hair back from her face and sighed, keeping her eyes closed. 'How long?' She said, and winced as if in sharp pain. 'If we take the necessary measures to keep the girls...quiet and out of the way, so you two can devote all your time to plough through this, how long do you think it will take you to complete our mission and send for the adjudicators?'

Riff and Frank looked at each other, and shrugged.

Riff said, 'Six weeks.' Frank added, 'Eight, maximum.'

'Okay.' Magenta frowned deeply now, nodding at the floor. She was thinking hard. 'Obviously we need to get Sprite and Columbia sorted out first but once that's over we can-.'

The familiar sound of muffled groaning filtered from upstairs.

Frank and Magenta leapt up at once, but Frank flapped her away, uttering, 'I'll go, I'll go,' and dashing past her. They watched him go, scaling the staircase two at a time.

Magenta sprawled backwards in her chair, covered her face with her hands and groaned. 'Oh Riff,' she lamented, 'what have we done?'

Riff stared at a patch of chipped paint on the wall. Maybe it was better to just ignore the origin of all of this, and take his knowledge to the grave. Nobody else need know. He'd secured his place in Hell a very long time ago.

'After all this time.' Riff glazed over and moaned softly at the sight of Magenta crying. 'What have we done?'

* * *

Frank took a few half-seconds to compose himself before he went in. He didn't want to break down the door like an enraged bull and scare her even further. He took some deep breaths, tried to still his shaking hands, and pushed the door open.

She wasn't on all fours, wailing like a case of demonic possession like last time. He could make out the shape of her tiny frame curled up under the covers, the hem pulled right up over her head, as she stretched and writhed sluggishly. Sleeping or conscious, Frank didn't know, but he closed his eyes, steeled himself, and took a few hesitant steps towards the bed.

'Lessie?' He sank down ever so carefully, settling himself atop the silky quilt. 'Baby...?'

He reached out, long fingers unfurling with silent precision, and - hardly daring to breathe - pulled back the hem of the bedspread.

The sun caught a sheen of her silver hair just before she sprang up and punched him.

Her small fist caught him right between the eyes. It didn't hurt, but the shock of it ripped a bark out of him and sent him reeling. He folded backwards like a fucking lawn chair, hands scrambling to push himself upright. He was a lanky person, and managed to kick a small nightstand over, ornaments sprawling, one hand grabbed the curtain and ripped half of it from the rail and cracked his head on the wooden flooring with a dull thump when his stomach muscles failed him.

Long limbs and quick, spidery movements were all well and good until you had no control over them. And after all that, the loud bangs and bumps probably gave poor Lessie a heart attack.

He swore, drunk with pain, and moved to a kneeling position before standing.

His little mouse was an exact replica of herself upon their first meeting. Curled up as far as possible against the wall, knees drawn to her chest and blanket draped over her petite form. Her dainty feet trembled atop the mattress. If he ignored the pounding in his ears, he could just hear her breathing. High-strung, almost sobbing but not quite. She _would_ lapse into hysterics if he ignored all his caregiving instincts and tore the blanket from her, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to him and then he was free to shout, intimidate, interrogate, and not give an inch until she stopped this little game of hers and told him what she'd really been up to.

He could see it now. Not even breathing room between the wall, Lessie and himself, hands around her throat or under her shirt, perhaps one braced against the wall for a more dramatic affect. He could dig deep, finally, and scoop out those delicious answers he'd been craving.

' _Who the fuck do you think you are? Snooping around my house, invading my privacy, spouting pigheaded lies every chance you get. No wonder you're a miserable wreck.'_

 _'How much longer are you going to drag this out, my girl, hmm? How much more can you extort out of me?'_

 _'I pity you, little mouse, I really do. So sick in the head, poor thing, must be dreadful. Just what the bloody hell is wrong with you?'_

 _'Juniper. I know you know. Who is she, where is she? Come on, smartass, she's been your little obsession for weeks! Stop lying to me. Tell me, now!'_

He saw slapping, biting, spitting. Claws scratching, mouths screaming, bones breaking. They'd be locked in their together, their own corner of heaven, and no one else could do a thing about it. No one could force him to hold back.

She deserved it, after everything she'd put them through. Just as he deserved the relief. Sweet, blessed relief, after all this time. Keeping up the facade of a warm, charming, quick-witted gentleman twenty four hours a day. At times, it rather muddled with the brain.

At last he could let go.

She would still want him afterwards. Seek him out, as per. He had his ways, and he was an expert at them.

He would make her beg. Make her crawl.

A delicious shiver ran through him.

But he couldn't do that. With a reluctant sigh, the cooling mist began to settle, unclenched his jaw and relaxed his muscles. Rotated his stiff neck a few times.

As much as that fantasy glimmered so temptingly, it just wasn't feasible. Her lovesick companion, constantly pining for her even after knowing she'd never compare, would always see to that. Magenta. His gaze blackened. Soft in the head, she was.

And then there was Riff. He might take the cowardly step and keep his mouth shut while it was in progress but he'd turn on him the second they stepped on familiar soil. They both knew that. Deceptively loyal they were, both of them. A disgusting pair. They might play the part of the simpering, ever ready to please manservants but all three of them knew if they were to go down, come hell or high water they would drag him down with them. Kicking and screaming.

So, with reluctance and copious amounts of self control, Frank merely sighed wistfully and resumed his position at the foot of the bed. 'Oh, Lessie...' He crooned, reaching out to remove the covers a little more gently that first planned. The slender, manicured hand trembled. He pulled the sheets back far enough to see the top of her head and her large eyes. He tilted his head down to get a better view of her - shivering and sweating at the same time - and pouted sympathetically. 'Now what on Earth was that for?'

Something like hope flashed in her eyes and her head lifted slightly. 'Frankie?'

'Yes, honey. It's me. Can I come in?'

By 'in' he meant climbing under the covers and sitting up in an actual bed, putting his arm around her and letting her rest her head on his chest as she did when she was tired, and not leaving until he figured out what was going on.

He leaned forwards but she recoiled, all that fear and distrust back in her eyes at once.

'You've never called me that before.'

He closed his eyes and bit back a scream. Pet names? Are you fucking _kidding_ me...?

Demonstrating again, just what a skilled performer he was, Frank kept his voice low, and warm, smiling in between phrases to keep her relaxed. Keep her sweet.

'Well you've never looked so frightened of me before, so I suggest that makes us even.' Her shoulders relaxed, but she didn't say anything. 'Now then my little mouse,' he advanced slowly and didn't look away from her. 'Is there anything you'd like to tell me?'

He waited, but could feel his patience wearing very thin. 'Lessie I know you're scared, darling, but you're being silly now. You know exactly who I am and you know I'm not going to hurt you. Something very serious has happened and we need to sort out how to help you so you need to talk to me. Understand?'

Stern, but loving. She flushed pink, thankfully the firm (he'd never quite had the balls to describe it as paternal but had always known that's what it really was) approach had worked.

Worked like a charm on Columbia too. Or it did, until she got too big for her boots and ended up on the wrong track, like they all did. He hadn't give much thought to Columbia at all lately. He barely saw his exuberant little firefly anymore, and in any case, she probably wouldn't survive much longer to change that.

He had to steer Lessie away. Act now, before it was too late. If not, she'd end up just like her. And that wasn't happening. No way. Not in a million years would his dear sweet little mouse wind up as this washed out, bruised, battered old thing with only eyes for the needle and a vague hatred for everything else.

Columbia's bursts of hyperactivity were nothing more that routine periods of mania. Anyone could see that.

Perhaps Frank was partly at fault for Columbia's destination in life. Perhaps he had been too soft with her - too lenient the first time around - but now he was older, wiser, he knew better. He'd done this before. And his absolute favourite obsession of all was coming out the other side with him, breathing or not.

He couldn't ruin another one.

Had Frank not been staring her out, he wouldn't have seen her mouth move. Her words came out too soft.

'I thought...I didn't know...I thought you were...' she was trying, and Frank respected that, so he waited for her to swallow down and collect her thoughts. 'I'm in trouble.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'What makes you think that?'

'They know. They saw me.'

' _Who_ did, sweet girl?'

'I don't know,' she whispered desperately, starting to panic again. Frank recalled that punched in the stomach feeling and actually felt bad for his deranged little mouse, falling victim to her neurological inadequacies once again. Through pants and high strung breaths she confessed, 'but they know what I look like, they'll recognise me now and it's only a matter of time before they-!'

'Alright, darling, alright.' He offered his hand and this time she took it, clamping around his fingers in a vice like grip. 'I think we need to slow down, we don't want you getting in a state again. Now why don't you cast your mind a little further back and tell me _where_ you saw these people?'

'Under the stairs.' She said without missing a beat. 'So many dead people are living under the stairs.'

Frank kept a straight face, but squeezed her hand so hard she screamed. What the _fuck...?_

'You didn't believe me last time and you don't believe me now.' He phased back in and almost jumped. Such naked, smouldering hatred. 'Last night I was so scared. I thought I'd gone insane. I thought I was going to die. I thought I was still down there, in the dark, and that they were going to hold me down and torture me for waking them.' She retched and covered her mouth in the same beat. Frank whipped the blanket away and shoved the same bowl from last night under her nose, in case she needed to use it again. She gripped the edges and her doll like hands were quaking.

'I thought they'd force me to become like them.'

She pushed the bowl away and started picking at her skin, running her restless fingers over the scars, bruises, love bites, peppering her arms.

Poor, poor fucked up little girl.

'Lessie...my love, when you say like them, do you mean-?'

'Dead.' She said. 'Or as good as. There's no way a human thing can survive like that. One of them didn't have any ears. And another, this one had eyes but they were so bruised and swollen, one had yellow pus leaking out like tears. One of them grabbed me, it clutched me here,' she lifted her shirt up and sure enough, faint red scratched stood out on her white abdomen, just above a dirty handprint, 'I pushed it away and the entire wrist came off in my hand. It's claws were stuck in me, I had to yank them out. It followed me when I turned to run, only it was crawling because it stopped just below its knees.

'Another wanted to tell me something, I think, but it's mouth was but a gaping hole. It's tongue had been hacked out, and not done a very good job of it. I could see bits of it still dangling there. Grey and fleshy. Something caught my foot and sent me sprawling. I cut my knee, the ground was hard.' Again, proof. Frank would tend to that later, stroke it with a warm cloth, simper and croon and kiss her better. 'I don't know how long I stayed curled up on the dank floor but the next think I knew, one of them was bent down, slimy hair tickling my face and the smell from that _mouth_...'. She heaved again, silently, but nothing more. 'It didn't have teeth. Flies were on its face. It could stand, but barely, one leg turned right the way in and the other food dragged along the ground. I couldn't have been staring at it for very long but it felt like hours. Like maybe all the bad things I've done, this awful person I've become, had caught up with me out of the blue and whisked me to hell.'

'Lessie you're _not_ going to-.'

'I knew it. I knew it was hell because I knew _it._ Had it been a real person, - had it not been mutilated beyond recognition - I would have remembered it. Seen that face before. Liked it, loved it, even.' She shook her head, a watery, apathetic look in her eyes. 'I couldn't place _you_ in a state like that.

'I don't remember getting out, although I must have done. I felt around the walls like something out of _The Yellow Wallpaper_. I would probably still be doing it now had I not awoken, half mad, in my own bed. I do remember, however, standing up and seeing what I tripped on.'

Frank brushed his fingers along her cheek and she leaned into his hand, sighing. She seemed to have shut down, and if Frank stroked her face for long enough, she would have drifted off to sleep. He could have left it at that, get her settled and lull her into a light doze - but the story was getting rather good, and Frank quite wanted to know.

'What was it, darling? Can you remember?'

'A full head of hair,' she said, drunk with fatigue. 'The scalp was still intact.'

* * *

Magenta stirred a pot of hot tomato soup over the flame. The rhythmic, systematic movement calmed her jangling nerves. Helped unravel her thoughts.

It was past midday and no one had eaten a thing. Columbia was still zonked out on her bed. Magenta sprinkled in some light seasoning and poured the dark liquid into five bowls. Her hands had stopped shaking sufficiently to stop her spilling it. She sniffed out the flame, swiped her forearm across her damp brow and picked up two bowls. She would serve hers and Riff Raff's first, then carry the next two upstairs and see if the twisted lovebirds were hungry yet. She wanted Columbia all to herself. To rouse her, carefully, and bring her round to a house that hadn't changed at all.

That poor girl. She might as well not even be here.

Riff took his bowl somewhat mechanically and began to eat. Spoon to mouth was an unconscious process. He barely tasted it, in any case it should have been far to hot to eat just yet. It could have burned a hole in his tongue and he would carry on, unphased.

However he only managed a few spoonfuls of this before Frank cane storming into the room, clamped on his upper arm and hauled him along murderously. It sent Riff's meal flying, shattered porcelain skewing across the floor, scalding hot soup dripping from the table and burning Riff Raff's legs. As always, the man didn't make a sound.

Magenta darted back to the stovetop, grabbed a bowl and dashed upstairs, protecting the top with one hand. She couldn't bear to see what would happen to Riff now. This would finish him, for good. And she couldn't do a thing about it.

Frank saw red, hazed, drunk with rage, indignation, drunk with power. He threw the man into a nearby broom cupboard and slammed the door on him. No need to tell him to wait there. Several minutes passed (Riff's heart slugging in his ears) before Frank returned, quaking, this time with an electro-magnetic laser.

 _The_ laser.

And just like that, a laser capable of emitting a beam of pure anti-matter pressed against the centre of his forehead.

Frank was galvanising, wild, teeth bared and lips pulled back in a feral snarl. His eyes stared back at him, bloodshot, and not a hint of human empathy in there anymore. _This_ was insanity. Personified, in the flesh, holding a murder weapon to his head. And the one thing you can't do with insanity, is reason. But he still had the knowledge. He held all the keys. So he had to try.

'You can't.'

'I _can,'_ he growled, and gripped the handle with both hands. 'She knows. My little girl. She saw. The chamber. You _swore_.'

The tri-pronged laser buzzed, and the red beam began to wake. There it lay, throbbing. Humming. _Breathing._

Riff's eyes fell closed, and felt warm urine running down his leg.

His master had gone mad. The man was going to kill him.

* * *

 **Ayyy Rocky Horror Live Saturday week whip. I shall be in the front row living my best life.**

 **Alma Oakley**


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